A Day in the Life of an Azkadellian Bodyguard
by animegus farmus
Summary: Sigh...a companion piece to 'Otherside Encounter' and 'The Courting of Officer Gulch', because apparently every story has as many sides as there are people in it.
1. Guardian

_Disclaimer: Who says I don't own Tin Man? For all you know I could be one of its original creators trying to make up for the fact that the miniseries was woefully short...of course, if you believe that, I've got a bridge to sell you..._

_Author Note: And here be irrefutable proof that I am a masochist, though I like to think of it as an aspiring writer's self-given exercise in seeing stories from different viewpoints and getting into different heads, and not at all what it is: virtual slavedom to a muse that just won't stop musing. Ever (I hope). I am promising myself, however, that this is my last look at this particular part of the Gulch Verse timeline. And since Quality Control made this mistake when she kept making me rewrite this over and over (and over and over), I'll just mention that this story isn't about Azkadellia, it's about her guards, and while they may spend some time musing on the eldest princess (and Old Gulchy), this is more of a day in the lives of those that guard the former Sorceress. And not just her literal guards either, as will be evident from my first choice of narrator, who's stubborn refusal to cooperate only made me write this chapter SIX FREAKING TIMES. Had the oneshot-that-shall-not-be-named made me write it more than the three times it did, I would have shot it in the head and moved on with life, unfortunately my Tin Man muse is much more stubborn than the other one and this particular character is inconveniently bulletproof – he is not proof, however, to me standing over him with a mental textbook of psychology and the merest thought of what I might think to do with Pavlov. All I'm saying is that he'd better behave himself in future, I don't take frustration well – as the internet has now learned and I am officially back online (about time, too, can't believe pop is the cheapest thing to drink at the coffee shop, no wonder the continent is getting overweight)._

_PS Rules are much like those of TFTO and 'Tic Tok' – humour/seriousness level depends on the situation and who is telling the story at the moment, case in point..._

* * *

><p>...<p>

Wyatt Cain's hand fiddled idly with the butt of his gun as he stared at the speaking advisor in an abstract sort of manner. It wasn't that the Tin Man wasn't paying attention per say – he knew exactly what was going on in his surroundings – he just had other things to concern himself with than the idiotic ramblings of a fellow trying to give opinions on a war he had no firsthand knowledge of. Out of the corner of his eye, Cain caught sight of Princess Azkadellia casting a longing glance at the Council Room doors. Again.

_Interesting._

After a minute the eldest princess turned her attention determinedly back to the meeting in session. Cain flicked a glance over to the youngest princess, searched all the sightlines surrounding her, checked DG again, scanned every line of sight towards Azkadellia, and then verified DG's location. Satisfied of the Crown Princess' continued health and safety, the Tin Man turned his attention to the eldest princess once more.

Princess Azkadellia's gaze came to rest on the Council Room doors with an almost...wistful expression. A moment later, so did DG's.

Across the room, the advisor's blathering faltered abruptly as the Tin Man's hand settled firmly on the revolver's grip. Cain's eyebrow's twitched together a fraction and he forced himself to turn away, his eyes locking onto the two members of the Crown Princess' protection detail currently standing active duty. Both men stiffened immediately, as if somehow trying to stand straighter. Cain wasn't entirely sure that was possible, but at least it showed they were alert. He regarded them for a few minutes, waiting to see if they'd make the mistake of relaxing. The Tin Man wasn't, technically, a part of the youngest princess' protection detail, or even in the chain of their command – DG wouldn't allow it, refusing point blank to allow her...friend – Cain mentally chewed on the word unhappily – to be put in the position where he'd have to stop bullets for her. As if he wouldn't do that anyhow. Didn't matter though, anyone that needed to knew who was really in charge of DG's safety, the last person to make an issue of technicalities being still laid up in the infirmary and all. The guards didn't relax, they tried to stand straighter still and darted searching glances around the room.

Cain shifted his gaze to the resistance fighter standing in the far corner, watching the eldest princess attentively. The man had the slightest smirk on his face, as if he was finding something amusing. This would have disturbed the Tin Man had he not already discovered in the time since recruiting the soldier to Azkadellia's temporary guard that Dawkins was always finding something amusing. Laughing warriors were like that, and the effect of that smirk on top of a 6'5'' solid frame that screamed hardened soldier could be quite appropriately threatening – when the man wasn't spoiling the effect by grinning like a little boy who'd manage to steal all the cookies. Like he was doing now, as he slyly shifted his gaze to the youngest princess, then to the Tin Man, and back again. Cain thrummed his fingers lightly on the butt of his gun while reminding himself as to the man's value as an able and willing guard to the eldest princess. Dawkins turned his attention back to his charge.

Sliding a glance over both princesses, the Tin Man focused momentarily on the advisor's ongoing speech only to discover that the lord had managed to phrase his report on the latest casualties in the continuing struggle with the remaining Longcoats as a – very – thinly concealed barb at Princess Azkadellia. Cain's hand tightened around the grip of his revolver, DG gasped inaudibly and pivoted in her chair, reaching out a hand to her sister...who had missed the whole thing because she was staring at the door again. The Tin Man's lips quirked ever so slightly as he began seriously considering an idea he'd had earlier that afternoon.

An Othersider would have no reason to harm the eldest princess.

Cain had not been put in charge of Princess Azkadellia's protection detail anymore than he was DG's, but concerned as he was for the youngest princess' welfare, and knowing her as he did, the Tin Man had had to spread the blanket of his protection fairly wide, covering as many of the holes in the Royal Family's defences as he could. He was not the best solution for the problem that was the eldest princess' security, merely the only one the O.Z. seemed willing to provide. And no one knew better than Cain, as he screened potential guard after potential guard, how lucky they'd been to have made it this far without losing anyone. A would-be assassin had once asked, as he gasped and cringed around the bullet in his gut, how a Hero of the Eclipse could defend the Sorceress. Cain hadn't answered; he'd been too damn busy dealing with the aftermath of what had been too damned close a call. He'd have thought the answer was obvious anyhow: he was the only person in the O.Z. he could trust to see to the safety of DG's sister. And he could only hope that when the day came that his every effort wasn't enough to hold the hounds of vengeance at bay, that he would be the one to pay the price.

But an Othersider would have no reason to do the eldest princess harm.

Both the princesses' gazes strayed towards the doors this time, the doors beyond which the accidental stowaway in Princess DG's travel storm, when she'd used the Otherside as a temporary retreat, sat with bewildered patience, waiting for the Royal Family to, in all likelihood, send him home. The Othersider who is the only reason this battle with the Longcoats was any different than any of the others; the policeman whose training might, just _might_ be enough that he could be able help the Tin Man keep the Royal Family intact long enough for them to put the Realm back together; DG's 'Menace', who she trusted and, little though she showed it, missed, though it made Cain's jaw twitch as to exactly how, and how much. The man who knew nothing of the O.Z. and probably had a life he'd like to get back to...

The Tin Man turned the idea over in his mind as he rose to give his report on the battle, weighing the pros and the cons, keeping an eye on the eldest princess...who recognized his rising as a signal that the meeting would end soon, and fixed her eyes on the door with an expression of the kind painful hope Cain knew all too well. It was mirrored in DG's face, a half mischievous, half pleading smile lighting her eyes as she watched her sister take an interest in something outside of her family or the concerns of the Realm for the first time since the Eclipse. Far be it from him, the Tin Man thought with a long look at the youngest princess, to deprive anyone of their light in the darkness.

Cain made his decision.

"Now," Wyatt Cain said, "about our reluctant slipper..."


	2. Interview with an Othersider

_Disclaimer: I own neither Tin Man nor the book/movie whose title I improved upon (at least in my own little world). ;p Don't own the movie 'Willow' either...I do hope y'all have watched it because a) it's a classic, and b) um, you're not gonna get the joke, or at least not fully._

_Author's Note: Point I forgot to mention in my last AN (mostly because it was ridiculously long as is): there is only going to be one chapter per narrator...what? You thought I'd be dumb enough to start this without putting a chapter cap on the story? I learned my lesson from 'Otherside Encounter' and 'The Courting of Officer Gulch', I half-ass plan these things now. The one trouble with writing this story is that I now have to go put in the effort to figure out names for all the guards after having so cleverly avoided it for so long. This particular character was going to be named after an Allen wrench (I have my reasons), only I made a little typo while playing with the spelling and discovered something way better – some characters are subtle about telling me their names...others, of course, are screaming them in my ear (and then there are the ones certain reviewers have had the temerity to name in hopes that it will cause my muse to permanently adopt them, knowing the power named characters have over me and all – no Bookworm Gal, he's not showing up in this one, he's past the timeline I'm sticking to)._

_PS If every chapter is has hard to write as these first two have been (this one only took two partial rewrites), it's going to require a little patience on the part of my wonderful readers. Sorry, I'm trying to kick the brain-brain in gear, but it's got a lot on its plate at present._

_PPS Have fun trying to guess which guard is which - though I am fairly obvious in this one._

* * *

><p>...<p>

Ayan Toksmith sat quietly in the designated waiting room and willed himself not to sneeze. He was not a member of the newly formed protection detail for Princess Azkadellia yet, and the last thing he needed was to go into a fit of nervous sneezing and give off the impression that he was sickly. His nose itched fiercely. At least there was one streak of light in the moritanium mines, he thought desperately, trying to distract himself, there were obviously still positions yet to be filled. Munchkin comfort, though, he realized as he stared dubiously across the room to where the last applicant stood staunching his copious nose bleed, especially given that it had been his interviewer who'd given it to him.

"I don't know what came over me," the Othersider was saying apologetically to everyone in the vicinity, as a Viewer – a Hero of the Eclipse no less – took a look at his hand, "I don't usually...that is...it's just that when he said he used to be one of DG's bodyguards I got this inexplicably irresistible urge to hit him." The man seemed honestly distressed by his behaviour.

The Viewer known as Raw merely smiled, patted the future guard commander on the shoulder and murmured, "Gulch entitled."

The would-be guard seemed to think otherwise, but Ayan had to admit that, since the last time the fellow would have been on guard duty for the youngest princess would have been back when there'd been a security breach so massive that it had almost destroyed the O.Z. in the aftermath, the sentiment was not entirely unreasonable. That did not stop him, however, from having to suppress a nervous giggle when the strange newcomer to this Realm turned to him and, with a sheepish expression, said, "Next."

Stifling his nerves and fighting off another sneeze, the guard candidate rose to his feet and hoped that the man wouldn't hit every applicant that didn't meet his approval.

"Ayan Toksmith," the Othersider read from the application form as he lead the way into his temporary office, "aged twenty-eight, 6'2", hair like the sunset over a wheat field – what the hell? – gray-green eyes like...you know, I don't even know what that _is_...strong jaw and dimples in both cheeks when he smiles. Right," he added drily, "because that is absolutely vital information, I totally needed to be made aware of that. Oh, and you got three little red hearts, too. You know, I think I just might have to ask for a new secretary, or whatever they call the job around here, I need someone who fills out the paperwork, not turns them into romance novels. And he seemed like such a level headed young man, too," he added absently, slipping into the chair behind the heavy antique writing desk and indicating for disconcerted Ayan to take a seat in the opposing chair.

"So," the guard commander continued as he began scribbling notes across the page, "why don't we start with you telling me what kind of experience you have and we'll go from there?"

The young hopeful tried not to wince at the question; it was entirely expected, it was just that his experience wasn't exactly going to impress anyone. Then again, that they'd even _considered_ his application in the first place – for a member of the Royal Family no less – was a measure of how desperate they were to find capable guards. And Ayan wouldn't have applied in the first place if he hadn't thought he could get the job done. Ignoring his itching nose, he squared his shoulders and prepared to say just that...

"Her Royal Highness, the Crown Princess DG," a stentorian voice interrupted as three heavily armed individuals invaded the room, "wishes a word with her loyal minion, the Officer Gulch of Kansas."

The Othersider blinked, Ayan turned to watch as the three epitomes of a guardsman moved with military precision, fanning out to cover all corners of the room and the occupants within, their eyes shifting constantly, tracking for threats. The young hopeful felt a moments doubt regarding his qualifications.

Officer Gulch craned around in his chair and hooked a thumb through the back of his belt as if looking for something.

"What are you _doing_?" giggled another voice as, to Ayan's utter awe and delight, the blue eyed youngest princess and most beloved Hero of the Eclipse danced her way into the room.

"Looking for a brand," the Othersider replied humorously, "I don't _remember_ signing up to be your minion, but I did get drunk a few nights before you abducted me so you never know..."

"We could always count the sc-"

"_DG_," Gulch cut her off abruptly, "never you mind, and more importantly, what are you doing here? I'm kind of in the middle of something," he said, gesturing at the awed applicant, "I was, after all, under the impression that this was the whole point of, er, extending my kidnapping."

"Yeah, sorry about that," the princess replied sheepishly as all the guards glared at the commoner that dared address royalty without a title, "I tried to get them to wait until you were done but I have a favour to ask that is kind of time sensitive and, well, when Cain tells these fellows to escort me from point A to point B, they do it, and there's no pausing or stopping along the way for anything." She seemed to be just a touch annoyed.

"Ah," the Othersider remarked dryly, "yes, well that I can believe. In that case, since you've already interrupted anyhow, why don't you tell me what it is you want?"

The Crown Princess, oddly enough, became suddenly hesitant. "Weeeell," she began slowly, "the thing is, Cain and I have to go on a quick little diplomatic mission and I was wondering..."

"Uh _huh_," Officer Gulch grunted sceptically as he leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms and observed the princess with a lifted brow.

"...ifwecouldborrowthecruiser," she finished in a rush.

Both of the Othersider's brows shot up. "Yes, well, that _is_ a request that requires three bodyguards to make," he replied blandly, "not a chance."

The princess' guard scowled, she waved a careless hand at them and, widening her eyes earnestly, asked, "What if I said please?"

"Then I'd say, if it weren't for the knowledge that your protection detail was selected by your trigger happy Tin Man and are therefore assumed devoid of the slightest sense of humour, over my dead body," true to his word, some of the guards seemed to contemplate it, "so I'll just stick with no."

"Pretty please?"

"Still no."

Princess DG eyed him speculatively. "I could make it a Royal Decree," she ventured.

"I'd ignore it," Officer Gulch replied lightly.

"That'd be treason," the princess fired back in amusement.

The Othersider snorted, "I can't commit treason, I'm not a citizen of the O.Z., best you could hope for is espionage. Besides," he continued as he resumed his scribbling on Ayan's application form – mostly it looked like he was correcting the romantic wording, much to the young Toksmith's relief, "I'm hoping to keep the cruiser running for as long as possible, which _won't_ be helped by turning it over to the likes of you or your Tin Man."

The Crown Princess' eyes sparkled at this. "As long as possible, huh?" she mused, "How about if I promise not to let Cain drive it?"

"It only reduces the strength of my 'NO' by the barest smidgeon. Why don't you take a horse? You used to love stealing Spencer's."

"Can't," the princess huffed, "I have to arrive with a certain amount of pomp and circumstances, which either means one of the royal conveyances, such as a carriage or our oh so unique Otherside cruiser..."

"Excepting that the cruiser happens to be owned by me and _not_ the Royal Family. Well," he added scrupulously, "it's mine more than it is anyone else's seeing as I have no way of actually returning it to the police department. I'm afraid you'll have to make do with one of the carriages."

"The carriages are hot and stuffy and have no shocks," Princess DG commented with distaste.

"I feel for you," Gulch replied serenely.

"Is there any chance you'll change your mind?" the princess pleaded earnestly, her eyes so wide and sincere, it seemed impossible for anyone to say...

"Nope," the Othersider declared urbanely, apparently unconcerned as every other man in the room glared at him.

"Fine," Princess DG uttered in a woeful tone that the callous Gulch somehow seemed to find amusing, "fine, I'll just arrive at our talks with the Eastern Guild with heat stroke and an adult case of shaken baby syndrome."

Officer Gulch paused. "The Eastern Guild?" he repeated, "As in that forest where everyone was shooting at us when I arrived?"

"Yeah," she confirmed, "but I think we've pretty much cleared the Longcoats out of the area."

"You _think_," the Othersider returned flatly, opening a drawer with a snap, "Here, take it," he growled, holding out a set of shiny keys, "mind you," he added, pulling the keys back from the princess' outstretched hand, "_don't_ let the Tin Man drive it. No, take it," he reiterated gruffly as the princess inexplicably hesitated, "there's a possibility that Cain's bulletproof, but you aren't."

"Aw," the princess grinned, taking the keys, "you wuv me."

Every man in the room abruptly shifted as far as they could get from the Othersider, the guards suddenly scanning for a threat much more worrisome than any those currently occupying the room might present. Ayan may not have spent much time near the palaces of the Royal Family, but there probably wasn't a soul in the O.Z. that didn't know the kind of reaction Wyatt Cain had to anyone that had, in his opinion, inappropriate interest in the Crown Princess. He may not be in the room, he could be halfway across the O.Z. for all anyone knew, but that didn't mean they all weren't in mortal peril. His nose itched furiously.

"Oh yes," Officer Gulch muttered dryly, rolling his eyes in utter unconcern, "you are my sun, my moon, my starlit sky..."

"You dwell in darkness without me," the Crown Princess chirped in cheerful recognition of the strange rote, her eyes sparkling in amused delight.

"And it _went away_," the Othersider stated with relish, "or at least I wish it would," he added astringently, glaring at the youngest princess, "Off with you, Im-...er," he faltered, glancing at the looming bodyguards, "_Imp_erial Person, I have matters of your sister's safety to arrange. Get you gone, have a safe trip and try not to wreck my cruiser again."

An indelicate snort greeted this pronouncement. "It'll be hard _not_ to have a safe trip," the most beloved Hero of the Eclipse scoffed, waving a hand at her entourage, "Cain makes me take three bodyguards just to travel halfway across the palace without him; he'll probably have half the Royal Army follow us to the Eastern Village."

"Considering this is you we're talking about," Gulch interjected mildly, "I don't know whether to call that paranoia or good planning."

"Good planning," Ayan asserted, then flushed as he abruptly found himself the object of the princess' annoyed and the guard commander's quizzical scrutiny. Fighting off the impending sneeze, he explained himself simply, "It's only paranoia if nothing ever happens to the princess, either of them," he added after the briefest hesitation. The two Otherside raised beings were now staring him with such identical expressions of contemplation that they almost looked related. Ayan willed himself desperately not to fidget.

"Hmm," Officer Gulch hummed speculatively, "Not in Kansas anymore," he added somewhat obscurely then he turned the princess with a dismissive wave and said, "Shoo, got things to do here. You go off and do your diplomatic shilly-shallying and I'll make sure your sister is still here when you get back...Gah!" he exclaimed as the youngest princess leapt around the desk to give him one of her famous hugs – currently considered an occupational hazard for those working anywhere near the Tin Man. "Off you," the Othersider grouched, apparently aware of this fact, "_I'd_ kind of like to be here when you get back, too."

The Crown Princess merely smiled winningly, thereby reminding those present why she was the most beloved Royal in the lands, and murmured, "Thanks Gulch," before releasing him.

"Yeah, well," the Othersider grumbled, "at least your big sis seems less inclined towards getting me into trouble – been here a whole week and a half without anyone dropping me off a building, I'm taking that as a good omen. Let your gun toting Tin Man take care of the crazy princess for a while, I'm on vacation over here...why are you grinning at me like that?" Gulch demanded with sudden alarm, "DG?"

But the youngest princess merely giggled and traipsed out of the room, taking her scowling bodyguards with her.

"She is so going to get me shot again," Officer Gulch sighed in resignation to no one in particular. Odd then, the O.Z. native thought, that the Othersider should have the oddest little smile hovering about his lips. Then, with a quick shake of his head, the guard commander seemed to refocus on his task. "Right," he snapped briskly, picking up a stack of papers and straightening them sharply, "where were we?"

Ayan contemplated for a moment. "We'd almost begun," he decided, "Um...that was the Crown Princess."

"So I've been made to understand," Gulch agreed, shuffling some more papers to the side.

"You, ah, threw her out of the room," his nose twitched at the thought.

"The hard part is making her stay out, least if she doesn't want to."

"And you didn't use her title."

"I've known her since she was a scrubby brat of five," the Othersider replied dryly, "I start calling her 'Your Highness' and she'd get to thinking she owns the place."

"She's the Crown Princess, she does own the place," Ayan pointed out, "or at least," he amended, "she _will_ own the place."

"I weep for the country. Tell me, Ayan," the guard commander inquired mildly, "are these questions of any particular importance?"

Rebuked, the young O.Z. native was about to apologize when he realized there was another answer to that question. "Only if the Tin Man takes issue and it causes problems between the protections details," he replied.

The Othersider paused in his paper shuffling and looked at the hopeful guard with that contemplative gaze again; it was somewhat akin to interest. "Fair enough," he acknowledge, "now, why do you want to be a part of Princess Azkadellia's protection detail?"

Ayan lifted his eyes to meet those of the commander; this was the most important question, the one everyone had known would be asked, but under that intent gaze he found himself pausing to collect his thoughts. "My parents were well known among toksmiths," he spoke slowly, choosing his words with care, "they were good at what they did, but as much as I shared their love of gadgets, my hands were always too big and clumsy to deal with the little parts. So I guarded the shop. When I was old enough I was going to try for the Central City Guard, but then the Sorceress took over and replaced them with her Longcoats, all that was left was the shops, so I kept guarding them. It's not that I particularly want to be a part of Princess Azkadellia's protection detail, hers is just the only one that would have a mere shop guard for all that guards are scarce these days. And I'll tell you this," he stated with simple obstinate pride, "they may have been mere shops but there was not one break in or theft that we ever discovered took place on my watch. I can't...I can't fix things," he muttered, "I can't fix what happened to the Realm, but I can keep those that are able safe until they get the job done."

Officer Gulch set the paper down and sat back slowly in his chair, keeping his eyes locked in a steady regard. Ayan jutted his jaw out stubbornly...well he hoped it appeared stubborn, mostly his nose was itching and he was trying not to spoil the gravity of his answer by blowing the papers across the room.

"Hmm," the commander hummed meditatively, "And Princess Azkadellia?"

"Scares me silly," the O.Z. native declared honestly, his nose itching more furiously still, "but that doesn't mean I wouldn't protect to the princess to the fullest extent of my abilities."

There was definite interest in the Othersider's eyes now, and even, Ayan hoped, a spark of approval. "On that note then," Officer Gulch drawled, the oddest little smirk quivering at the corner of his mouth, "imagine you are dr...er, riding down a fairly untraveled road and happen to spy a small girl in a red dress trying to ride an ornery old bull well known for trying to gore anything on two legs, most especially you, what do you do?"

Ayan Toksmith stared at the man in utter bemusement. It was obviously one of those trick personality testing questions, but girl in a bull pen? What the hell kind of scenario was that? Ayan couldn't help it anymore.

He sneezed.


	3. Childhood Heroes

_Disclaimer: Bloody well don't own this, got a problem with that?...Yeah okay, maybe I should be getting more sleep._

_Author's Note: And with this chapter I do hereby (theoretically) retire this computer to the land of faulty back-ups. I am very excited at the prospect. You might have noticed that it took me a while to update...okay, a _long _while to update...that's because after starting this chapter four freaking times it was like pulling teeth to write and I'm still not entirely happy with it (as Quality Control knows by now, the more difficultly I have writing a chapter, the more I obsess over it). I still feel the end could be better...but at the rate I am going, if I don't accept QC's passing grade, I'm going to end up committing charactercide just out of pure frustration. So help me, the next narrator better darn well cooperate..._

_PS On a positive note, I have passed my first internship and have been immediately slingshotted into my second (which might account for some of my burnout on the writing front), but so far, so good. Cheers_

* * *

><p>...<p>

* * *

><p>DG remembered that one time when she was about twelve and had managed, through some miracle, to convince Momster and Popsicle that it was okay to leave her home alone for one night while they had to go out of town to do something important (she learned many years later that Momster had developed a glitch and the whole thing had been an emergency trip to find replacement parts). She'd been sure she'd be fine, she'd insisted, she'd yelled, she'd repeated at length that Bobby Gibbons had been allowed to spend a whole weekend by himself (with plenty of food in the fridge and the neighbours alerted) when Shelly's mom had gotten sick. DG was a big girl now, she'd declared, she could take care of <em>herself<em>. The tic toks had been reluctant – extremely reluctant – but in the end they had succumbed, in Gulch's words, to the fatal blue eyes, and after a quick telephone call had hastened out the door.

The youngest princess had a lot of fun that day, sure it'd been sweltering hot, but she'd been the master of her own domain, all grown up and tending the house for herself. She'd made herself supper, she'd cleaned up the dishes, she'd shown what a mature, responsible young woman she was, able to handle a whole day by herself and not a spot of trouble had she gotten into, she could do anything...

...she just hadn't been counting on the storm.

The angry thunder clouds had rolled in about the time the sun had begun to set, and even the twelve year old had to admit (only to herself) that the empty old farmhouse was just a touch creepy after dark. The way the howling wind shook and rattled the walls didn't help any. DG had intended to stay up well past bedtime as a statement of what a big girl she was, she just hadn't meant to be spending that time huddled beneath her blankets with her flashlight on. Then the booming thunder had started, preceded as it was by blinding flashes of lightening.

Normally DG loved storms, there was something about their energy that called to her, but this was the first one she'd ever faced alone, and was that the sound of footsteps on the porch? She didn't know but she was _sure_ that was the squeak of the front door opening. There wasn't supposed to be anyone else here, Momster and Popsicle weren't due back for hours and they hadn't been able to get a hold of anyone to babysit...when the downstairs floor creaked DG had been off her bed and out the window without a second thought. The heavy winds had practically knocked the miniscule girl off the porch roof, but that was where she'd wanted to go anyhow and she'd hit the ground running full tilt for the barn.

It wasn't raining yet when she set out across the back roads on her bicycle, but it was so pitch black between lightening flashes that she may as well have been blind. It was well that she knew exactly where she was going, especially once the floodgates finally opened, she wouldn't have made it otherwise.

She'd arrived at the Gulch homestead soaked to the bone, cold, tired and miserable – and rather alarmed to discover all the lights were off and the inhabitants apparently bedded down for the night. DG hadn't wanted to disturb anyone, she'd just wanted a safe place to sleep since, apparently, there were monsters at her house. Fortunately for her, Officer Gulch was in the habit of leaving his window open in summer and hadn't, she discovered upon breaking into his bedroom, yet returned for the night. Noticing that the water was getting in, the twelve year old had been so good as to close the window behind her before stripping out of her wet pyjamas, ransacking the cop's dresser for one of his copious t-shirts and crawling into his oh so comfortable bed. Exhausted, the young girl had fallen asleep to the sound of Papa Gulch snoring down the hall.

Officer Gulch had been rather bemused to find her here there when he dragged himself through the door sometime later. Awakened by the crackle of someone speaking through his police radio, DG had merely stared at him blearily and awaited events. On any other night the policeman probably would have asked what she was doing there, he'd probably even have had something pointed to say on the subject of people who were scared by the creaking of an old house yet had no trouble biking five miles across country in the dark to seek alternate accommodations. As it was, the cop had merely peered owlishly at the storm raging outside his window, grunted something that almost could be interpreted as 'she's here' into his radio, then set it and his swiftly unloaded gun on the dresser, before grabbing a pillow and crawling fully clothed into the bottom of the bed. DG had wanted to lodge a protest about the big stinky feet suddenly in her face, but it was evident from the deep breathing that Officer Gulch had fallen asleep pretty much the second his head hit the pillow, and the sound was so soothing she couldn't help but be lulled back into the realm of dreams...

It wasn't until much later the next day that DG had learned that the voice on the other end of the radio had been the Chief, rather panicked to find, when he went to check on her as Emily had asked, that DG wasn't anywhere in the farmhouse. He hadn't actually understood a word Gulch had said either, but since the younger cop hadn't gotten upset at the news that DG was MIA, he'd rightly assumed that his subordinate had a visual on the truant, locked up and carried on with his night. Officer Gulch, meanwhile, had been coming off a strenuous double shift that had followed up on a week's worth of sleepless nights, and hadn't been the least bit prepared to deal with the discovery of a twelve year old girl in his bed. He'd had a few nebulous thoughts about how she was both far too old and far too young to be climbing into an adult male's bed, especially an adult male not related to her, and had he had a few more functional brain cells probably would have taken himself off to sleep on the couch. As it was, he'd been dying to go to bed for hours and there'd been a bed right there, dammit, so he'd compromised as best he could under the circumstances.

Officer Gulch was like that. There wasn't a single person in the small Kansas town who would have walked into the policeman's bedroom the next morning and worried anything was amiss (Mama Gulch's only concern upon discovering them had been about finding the camera in time to capture the sight of her son, sprawled across the bed, snoring around the grubby foot of the twelve year old wrapped around his leg like it was a giant teddy bear), but that didn't stop him taking precautions anyhow. He may be clumsy at times, occasionally tactless upon delivery, and _frustratingly_ oblivious with blind spots a mile wide at the most provoking of moments, yet when he decided to look out for someone he'd leave no stone unturned, no bridge uncrossed, and often no bone unbroken in getting the job done. She'd never tell him, at least not in any way he'd have to take seriously (it went against all the rules of their gleefully antagonistic relationship after all), but the Menace had been her hero once. DG hadn't really realized it at the time, even as she'd scoffed at Missy for idolizing her own older brother with not even a _fraction_ of the excuse (not that there was anything wrong with JR), but Officer Gulch had been her honest to goodness, correct me when I do wrong, protect me from the unknown, not-invincible-but-seemingly-indestructable-save-me-with-a-smile-a-kind-word-and-a-portable-soft-landing childhood _hero_.

DG doesn't remember the O.Z. the way she does the Otherside. This isn't terribly surprising, most people didn't remember much before the age of five, and the magical interference has left what might have remained splintered and faded. Like ghostly echoes, the fragmented images of forgotten times would flit and tease at her consciousness, rendering the O.Z. past into a fairytale life, her parents strangers she'd had to learn to love again, and her sister a painful promise of what might have been. DG remembered Azkadellia as she had been. Fractured though her recollections were, they still contained the vision of the kind, brave, intelligent, confident and strong-willed girl that had been the youngest princess' first childhood hero. The sister who had taught DG to skip stones and make dolls fly, the sister who would chase after her mischievous sibling and face down bears, the sister who had stood firm in the face of the wicked witch...and had paid the price for DG's curiosity.

Azkadellia had shone once, and DG's had been the fault that had blighted that radiance. However innocent, however young, however well intentioned she'd been, it was because of the actions of the youngest princess that the eldest now needed every scrap of that immense courage just to make it through the day, that her confidence was shattered and her once indomitable will is only evident in the fact that after fifteen years trapped in the mind of the Sorceress, she is still _Az_. Damaged and tortured, haunted by nightmares so loud that sometimes DG hears them in her dreams, but still Az.

And the worst of it was that DG could do nothing to mend what she'd marred. Sure, she'd helped melt the bitch that'd harmed her sister, she could be Az's security blanket, could keep the eldest princess steady while Cain kept the monsters at bay, but DG couldn't make the O.Z. accept her. Anything the great and magnanimous Crown Princess did or said on behalf of the former Sorceress was just the wonderful Hero of the Eclipse being, well, great and magnanimous and angelically forgiving. Her parents were similarly handicapped, apparently blinded by their love of their fallen daughter; the Tin Man's words could be discounted (shockingly enough) on account of his well known loyalty to the youngest princess, Raw and Glitch ditto, Tutor, too, and then there was Ambrose, so fatally and obviously terrified of Azkadellia still. It was so painfully _frustrating_, but the possibility remained that the best good deed DG had managed to achieve on behalf of her sister since the Day of the Eclipse had been a complete and utter accident.

She really hadn't meant to drop that tornado on Gulch after all. Nor had she intended to drag him into the O.Z. and leave him vulnerable to Cain's practical (and possibly desperate) suggestion. And while DG knew, she _knew_, she should have stopped the Tin Man, should have _truly_ objected so that they would send the cop home – the Menace deserved to be allowed to live his life in peace (well in peace now that she was _supposed_ to be out of the picture) – the youngest princess had found herself unable to do so because Azkadellia had so patently _wanted_ him to stay. For the first time in the near year – annual – and a half since they'd banished the darkness, the eldest princess had finally shown a spark of interest, a glimmer of hope, and it could mean Az's salvation...or her utter destruction.

Because some things just can't be _made_ to happen, couldn't be asked or commanded, only given...

...and she remembers telling Gulch once that there was a damsel in distress somewhere just dying to meet him...

...and, damn it, that's the biggest darn blind spot he's got and Azkadellia's standing right in it...

...but if there was one thing the Menace was so infinitely good at, it was mending broken princesses. She should know...

...and then the world is rearranging itself and DG's thoughts are interrupted as she finds herself being whirled protectively behind the Tin Man's back. A deafening roar shatters the cheerful gaiety of the Royal Ball as Cain deals decisively with the assassin of the day while across the room Gulch...is being Gulch. It is a bizarre experience watching her old unwitting guard move to protect someone else; his actions just look so chaotic, she wonders if they always have...

...and as a hush settles over the ballroom, only to be broken by the incongruous sound of bubbling, joyous, innocent laughter – _Azkadellia's_ laughter, a sound the youngest princess hasn't heard in over fifteen years, that only existed as a whisper of a memory – DG realizes that he who was once a hero is a big damn hero still. And she can only hope – and wish and plead and beg to anyone who might happen to be listening – that Officer Gulch will choose to be Azkadellia's hero, too.


	4. Glitchonomic Submarine

_Disclaimer: Don't own Tin Man, don't own Tin Man, don't own Tin Man…Tin Man…Tin Man…don't own the Beetles song or the 'Cool Runnings' line I altered either._

_Author's Note: Why yes, I am alive, thank you for asking nightdrive23, Dragonlady80906 and Megan McAlistair. While review pokes are generally quite effective, nothing works a guilt trip quite like a specialized PM asking if I am even still breathing. Um, sorry about that folks. Brain-Brain finally decided to stage that revolt it's been threatening for years. After the near constant pressure it's been under since January, the effectual gray matter melting during the recent heat wave (I am never moving to the tropics, can't stand the heat), the constant bombardment of new tasks, and the usual last minute project info dump, it was not impressed when my response to its "please stop doing those high pressure data crams" was "thanks for the great slideshow presentation, now release the stories! (and I did most of the reading over a week in advance, you had plenty of time to assimilate the pertinent facts)" I got a little bit of time off, and boy has Brain-Brain gone on vacation, I've been dragging this story out of it a paragraph or so at a time for over a week now. Does it not understand how far behind Muse we have now fallen? Sigh. It probably would have helped if this narrator wasn't so hard to keep on target…_

* * *

><p>...<p>

* * *

><p>Synapses were such funny things. The meeting of axon terminal and dendrite branch, the microscopic chemical switchboard in the propagation of the electric signal, the ultra-tiny cracks in the nervous system, far too miniscule for any zipper to close, over which neurotransmitters were fired across like so many tin men and their little dogs, too…what? Neurotinmen? That couldn't be right. That couldn't be right. That couldn't….<p>

_Crackle._

…be right. Brains and tin men didn't go together: the heartless always tried to shoot the brainy. Synapses were a junction between cells where tiny molecules passed electrochemical messages from one neuron to the next, relaying information to and from the central nervous system via excitatory or inhibitory outputs. Often multiply signals would meet within a dendrite, the pooling of input from alternate sources affecting the resultant output: sometimes the combination of synapses amplified the ensuing signal, sometimes they deadened it…

…and sometimes they argued.

This was not Glitch's fault, he didn't care what Ambrose said about people who played with levers that had been clearly marked 'Do Not Touch' – everybody knew that you put a sign like that on a toggle and the first thing anyone wants to do is pull it, if only to see what would happen. And Glitch hadn't had the slightest hand in the building of the underwater car…except for suggesting that they could borrow a few parts from the Otherside cruiser – just for a little while – so that they could show DG when she got back from the Northern Island (it would cheer her up, she hadn't liked the icy palace since she'd died there)…and he _might_ have mentioned that a little air conditioning would be a nice comfort for the passengers…and adding a radio for communication purposes was just common sense…but other than that, the headcase had butted out just like the advisor had told him to, so you see, it really wasn't Glitch's fault. And if Cain managed to claw his way out through the thick metal door and make his way to the surface of the lake despite all odds currently against him (it was his specialty after all), the zipperhead intended to tell him exactly that.

And maybe if Glitch was really lucky the Tin Man would only shoot him in the left side of the brain, too.

_Think, think, thinkthinkthinkthink…_

_Crackle. "Submarine to surface, submarine to surface..."_ a voice announced from somewhere near the Royal Advisor's elbow. Glitch looked at the radio with suspicion. Like he was falling for that, he didn't care what Ambrose said about them using the device not ten minutes ago, DG had been very clear on the subject: do not trust disembodied voices. He always remembered what the youngest princess told him, even when Ambrose was being a headache – like right now – so there was no way he was going to answer…

"…_please come in."_

…oh, well, if they were going to be polite about it. "Hello?" the headcase inquired tentatively.

_"Glitch, how's our rescue plan going?" _ the disembodied one demanded.

Mysterious voices requesting aid were a bad sign, and it's not like he had the time to go making up rescue plans for everyone, he had Ambrose's mess to clean up after all. Still, it didn't hurt to listen – the voice did seem remotely familiar – Glitch supposed he could always hang up if turned out to be a wicked witch. "Do I know you?" he asked warily.

There was a momentary pause during which Ambrose let out a mental shriek of frustration and attempted a hostile takeover of the cerebral cortex. Which they really didn't have time for right now…

"_Zipperhead!" _the voice stated with restrained exasperation, _"Remember us, the people you dropped to the bottom of the lake in the metal tub you built?"_

Okay, now Glitch was completely confused. Only Cain called him zipperhead and that was decidedly not the Tin Man talking. It was far too masculine to be a princess and the only other person he'd ever dropped to the bottom of a lake was…

"Oh, Gulch! Hi!" the zipperhead replied cheerfully, happy to have solved their little identity dilemma. What was Ambrose getting so huffy about? Glitch liked Gulch; he was a decent fellow, never hit too hard when clearing up a synaptical tangle. Bit twitchy, though; every time DG looked to be getting herself in trouble his shoulders twitched like mad. Of course, every time DG was in trouble Cain jumped so the Othersider wasn't as twitchy as all that…on the other hand, whenever someone was after _Azkadellia_, Cain twitched and Gulch jumped, so maybe it was a lawman thing. Or was it that Gulch jumped and Cain shot someone? Which would mean that Cain was still the twitchier fellow unless…

"_Yes, Glitch," _Gulch huffed through the radio_, "now have you figured out how to get us back to the surface?"_

"Um...no," the headcase admitted hesitantly, truth be told he'd gotten a little distracted when Ambrose had started laying blame for endangering half the Royal Family – _he_ wasn't the one that failed to consider the limited air supply under water when building his Otherside doohickey until _after_ he'd dropped them to the bottom of the lake…oh, right, "and, uh," Glitch thought he'd best mention, "you might want to not breath so much."

"_Princess Azkadellia shrunk Cain and DG,"_ Gulch reported hastily.

Ambrose abruptly stopped vying for control. "Really?" the headcase uttered in surprise. The cop sounded a touch desperate, no wonder, too, if the eldest princess was suffering a relapse. "I thought she'd stopped doing that." – they'd melted the witch and everything – then again... "It will help though. Maybe she should shrink everyone," Glitch decided happily, they'd have plenty of oxygen that way, "Now go away a minute, Ambrose and I are in the middle of stressing the synapses."

The radio went obediently silent. That was better, now Glitch could at long last finish a thought. It was going to be a difficult task, he was lacking the most pertinent data, in fact there was no way he was going to make a determination as to who was twitchier until he saw under which circumstances Gulch would shoot someone…_what?_ Oh right, it was the _other _thought he was supposed to be finishing. Though how he was supposed to find a way to get DG and company out of a submarine he didn't design, Glitch didn't know. He'd _told_ Ambrose keeping the pilot's cabin completely separate was a bad idea, he didn't care what the Royal Advisor said about minimizing distractions for the one who'd be driving the thing – the fellow was obsessed with eliminating all possible disturbances for some reason – and if it had been up to Glitch the thing would have been yellow. DG had a thing for yellow underwater cars; she'd made up a song for it and everything:

_We all live in a yellow submarine, yellow submarine, yellow submarine, we all live in a yellow submarine…_

…oh hey, that wasn't a glitch; he just couldn't remember any more of the lyrics.

How do you get four people out of a sealed tube in the bottom of a lake? Could they swim out? _Not now Ambrose, I'm consulting the synapses. _Actually he was borrowing the left hemisphere of their brain and he could do that easier without the interference of the Royal Advisor. Glitch considered the differential pressures within and without the submarine capsule, and estimated the weight of water currently sitting on the contraption and concluded that not even an angry Tin Man could muscle the door open. Especially since he'd been shrunk. Ha! Tiny Cain, he'd like to see the Tin Man try and boss him around now…then again, maybe not…

Okay, so they couldn't swim out, maybe…_what do you mean you already did that calculation?_ Well if Ambrose had already considered and discarded the notion of having them swim to safety, he could have at least had the courtesy to at least say so. Lives were on the line here, people at the bottom of the lake, they didn't have time to…

…hey, maybe they could swim out! Glitch meandered into the logic centers of the brain in search of the Royal Advisor's mathematical prowess…

_Whack._

…and was immediately sent stumbling back as the headcase's right hand suddenly smacked him right across the face. _Ow._ Okay, so maybe they'd already done that calculation before….twelve times…didn't mean Ambrose had to…there were better ways to…Glitch caught a movement out the corner of his eye. _Oh no you don't,_ the zipperhead howled across the frontal lobe and flung his left hand forth in retaliation.

_Whack!_

_Whack! Whack!_

_Whackwhackwhackwhack! Whack, whaaack!_

_Oooh, nice rhythm!_

_WHACK!_

_Whoops, _he thought, flailing his arms desperately as Ambrose last strike almost succeeding knocking them of the dock.

_Well that was mature_, Glitch asserted as he succeeding in righting them with a superb, if unwitnessed, balance dance. Ambrose had clearly been spending too much time around Cain if violence was his first solution. And wasn't there something important they were supposed to be doing…hey, what does this do?

"Ow," Glitch muttered as the right hand figured out what the left was doing and hastily slapped it away from the most intriguing lever…

Ambrose took advantage of Glitch's preoccupation – there was even an enticing sign reading 'Do Not Touch' – to mount another bid for control. Which was really quite rude of him, there was no need to shove, Glitch had no trouble ceding control for DG's sake. And really, it made sense for the person who designed the troublesome contraption to get in on the planning, to get in on the planning, to get in on the planning…

The fingers of the Royal Advisor's right hand curled into claws as if he was considering strangling himself, then Ambrose shook himself resolutely and reached for the radio to…

"_Glitch are you..."_

...scream like a little girl and flee into the deepest reaches of the medulla oblongata as the voice of the dread Princess Azkadellia drifted from the radio to haunt him. Glitch didn't know what his problem was, Azkadee hadn't ripped out their brain.

Her Alchemist had.

"_Hey Zipperhead,"_ the comforting, if harried, tones of Officer Gulch demanded, _"Zipperhead are you there?"_

At least he thought it was the Othersider, better check, "Do I..."

"If you even think of finishing that sentence," Gulch warned, sounding oddly growly for such peaceable fellow – Cain really was a bad influence around here, "I am going to throttle you when I get out of here. Listen up Glitch, is there any way a man shrunk down to say three inches could make it through the parts of this rust bucket and into the pilot's chair?"

Glitch blinked. Practical applications of wicked witch possession? He was going to have to upgrade Ambrose's intelligence estimate on the Othersider. But could it work… "Yes! Give me a second to grab the schematic." There ought to be a guild's worth around, Ambrose having decided that since burning blueprints didn't stop anyone from stealing his designs anyhow, no sense encouraging anyone to go after the source again.

Correct plan discovered – three times – cop apparently shrunk to correct navigation height, the headcase thought they'd started off quite well. As the eldest princess was acting as relay, Ambrose stayed conveniently out of the proceedings, and the Othersider had sufficient mechanical knowledge to follow his instructions without translational difficulties. The only problem…

"Go now, go now, go now…"

…was that Gulch wasn't too fond of the idea of traversing the pistons. Couldn't blame him, really, Glitch didn't like the idea of having his brains smashed out any more than the next person…

"Go now, go now…"

"_Glitch!_"

…_What?_ "Go now, go now, go now…" This really wasn't a good time for the princess to interrupt him, delicate works in progress - maybe Ambrose had a point about reducing distractions – _oh hey Ambrose, didn't expect to see you here…_

"STOP!"

During the ominous silence that followed Glitch decided it might be best to let Ambrose take things from here, he seemed to have things under control. Providing the policeman hadn't just been crushed by the mechanical workings of their submarine that is…

_"Glitch,"_ the unexpectedly dangerous sounding voice of Officer Gulch stole through the headcase's cognitive processes some unknown interval later – time got a bit funny when you weren't the one in control – rousing Glitch from the corner of the brain he'd hidden in.

"Oh good, you made it!" the zipperhead said brightly as Ambrose tried to add the next direction, "Now..."

"_Glitch_," the cop repeated, ice leaking into his voice.

Ambrose decided he didn't want to hang around for this. "Uh, yeah?" Glitch asked hesitantly, excepting when Azkadellia was in the room, it was never a good sign when the Royal Advisor headed for the hindbrain.

"_What the hell did you do to my cruiser?"_ Gulch bellowed through the speaker.

"..." Ambrose was a smart, smart fellow.

_"I said you could study my car. _Study_. I did not say you could use it for spare parts!"_

Oh right. "I was planning on putting them back," Glitch explained reasonably, "it's just that I didn't have anything better on hand to use in order to get it done to show DG today." Gulch liked DG right? Wanted to see her happy? So there should be no reason he'd get mad when the headcase's intentions were pure…

_"Just tell me how to get to the surface, Zipperhead,"_ stated the unmollified tones of Officer Gulch.

…okay, so maybe he was in a little trouble, but surely the cop would have calmed down by the time they'd managed to guide the water car back to the surface…

Good thing they hadn't painted it yellow after all, because when Gulch would have scraped half the deco off inexpertly bringing the machine to dock. The cop was out of the pilot's chair and hitting the wooden planks of the quay with a wince and a rueful glance at his bare and bloodied left foot before hastening to release the hatch currently imprisoning the eldest princess.

Azkadellia did not look impressed.

…surely DG would protect him…

"Az-z-z, h-how d-do y-ou ch-change th-th-the w-weather in-n-n y-your p-prison-n-n?" the Crown Princess struggled to say around her chattering teeth not five minutes later. The poor doll was soaked to the bone, so was the Tin Man for that matter.

"Oh dear," said Glitch, they really ought to see if they could find some blankets. And some muglug…

Four pairs of furious eyes turned his way.

"You have until I get her somewhere warm," Cain ground out. The headcase had the uneasy notion that the Tin Man was thinking of serving his heart up on a moritanium platter.

"Oh he doesn't have that long," countered Azkadellia. With perhaps a side dish of brains…

"I have a gun right here," offered Gulch. Glitch really didn't think the O.Z. needed to be introduced to prairie oysters…

DG made an unsuccessful grab for the revolver that generally dealt wholesale slaughter onto all that opposed it…

Ambrose came screaming out of the deeper regions of the brainstem. _Run, run, run, run…_

Had Glitch mentioned what a smart fellow the Royal Advisor was? Good survival instincts, brain ripping fiascos excluded that is. _Run away, run away, run away…_

Run through forest, run through stream…

…feel the rhythm, feel the rhyme, look out all, it's running time…

…why was he running again? It was good exercise, good for you, Gulch said so. That and good food, like muglug. Glitch wondered if the Othersider had ever had muglug, he was feeling oddly hungry so maybe he should go back and ask him. No reason not to.

Was that Cain's fist?


	5. Not in the Job Description

_Disclaimer: Nope, I still don't own it. What are the chances of that changing? Don't own the song either.  
><em>

_Author's Note: So I spent a week or more of struggling to crank out an idea here, a paragraph there, I put in a solid 3-4 hours of writing in last night – or rather, really early this morning – in order to finally get this chapter ready to go, only to find myself doing a scrambling fifteen minute rewrite of the section it took me a week to write – whilst texting Quality Control to really, please not go to bed yet all the while – in order to hopefully make the passing grade before she shut down for the day. It almost annoys me that it did. If my narrators would stop getting ahead of themselves so that I could write the chapter at hand, maybe we wouldn't be having this massive slow down. And I really hope QC didn't pass this just so I'd leave her alone and let her sleep. I do believe it was Queen Isabella that was hoping to see this; I hope I did it justice. In terms of dedication, I'm going to dedicate this to Dragonlady80906 because I like to brighten days in what little way I can. Sorry it took so long, meant to get this chapter out much sooner._

_PS You may have difficulty guessing the guard, QC did – in fact, I had to tell her. But then, it is only to be expected, all things considered, I can't make them all easy, what fun would that be?_

_PPS And, uh, you might want to read a fair bit of this out loud. For, uh, clarity. Eheheheh.  
><em>

* * *

><p>...<p>

* * *

><p>Tam Merling sometimes wondered how he'd come to be here.<p>

_Scuff._

At barely nineteen, a munchkin hair under six feet (but hopefully still growing)…

_Scuff._

…with a slender build (he'd fill out yet, really, just look at his brothers) and the look of a sorrel-headed, wide eyed village boy (as regrettably unchangeable as it was true)…

_Scuff._

…he knew he bore a far more striking resemblance to a bald-faced Viewer cub (the exact words of a certain sceptical Gillikin) than to any kind of guard, much less a Royal Guard and a member of one of the Royal Family's personal protection details to boot.

_Scuff._

So he hadn't had much to recommend him…

_Scuff._

…besides – in his older brothers' words – a certain eye for space and distance, and the good natured ability to take a hit.

_Scuff._

The youngest Merling had read the bulletin requesting volunteers for the eldest princess' protection detail carefully before braving the ridicule of his peers and stepping forward.

_Scuff._

Experience had been preferred but it had not been required – as was evidenced by a full half of Princess Azkadellia's guard.

_Scuff._

Sure the Gillikin and the resistance fighter were obvious enough picks, but a shop keeper, a village boy, and a…well, technically the fifth member of their unit did have _some_ experience, but still…

_Scuff._

…_Deities,_ Tam would have loved to have been in the room when Old Gulchy tried to put that one by the Consort.

_Scuff._

Of course, others had expressed the same wish regarding the 'rookie's' addition to the lists.

_Scuff._

Though Dawkins did assure him, in the kind of voice one tended to reserve for coddling adorable puppies, that there was all kinds of use for the appearance of innocence – a statement that anyone who knew the mischievous mammoth probably didn't doubt in the least.

_Scuff._

Tam did wish that he could make suitable reply to their ribbing, alas that there was a good reason why Gillikins were so respected among fighting men, and getting on the bad side of Dawkins just wasn't worth it.

_Scuff._

Besides, the Othersider had seemed far more interested in asking bizarre questions about Vindictive Screeching Harpies that might bother the princess than worrying himself over much about related job experience.

_Scuff._

What one was _actually _supposed to do about the dread beasts, the young guard certainly didn't know, but he'd apparently managed to slip a munchkin through the gates in his desperate attempts to find an answer.

_Scuff._

Maybe not the most mature suggestion ever given, but having grown up the smallest kid in a tiny village a stone's throw from the Realm of the Unwanted, with a pack a brothers that couldn't decide from one day to the next whether they were going to protect him or 'help' him learn to defend himself, Tam had a solid tin dislike of bullies.

_Scuff._

And he figured, since the eldest princess had supposedly spent fifteen years under the dark of the biggest bully the O.Z. had ever seen, she might enjoy getting a little of her own back.

_Scuff._

Seemed to satisfy his new guard commander at any rate…

_Scuff._

…not to mention amuse him, in an oddly alarmed sort of way…

_Scuff._

…and as if Tam would ever have the nerve to try and give DG – as in _Crown Princess_ DG, Hero of the Eclipse, Saviour of the Realm – ideas.

_Scuff._

No matter what Old Gulchy said about not having liked boredom all that much on closer acquaintance anyhow.

_Scuff._

Which was how Tam found himself being dragged across the Central City Palace courtyard a witch's handful of weeks later whilst trying to convince Dawkins that, yes, Old Gulchy really had meant for the protection detail to stay behind while he and the Tin Man went to scour the city for the missing princesses. The resistance fighter apparently having (conveniently) decided that the youngest guard must have been mistaken in his instructions and surely all eyes (or his at least) would be required in locating the drunken, er, Royal truants.

_Scuff._

Tam wondered if their guard commander had ever noted, when giving his commands, that Dawkins outweighed his young comrade by a good hundred pounds of muscle. It was a pertinent question, given that it meant that when Dawkins decided he was going to keep on walking, he had no trouble doing so, despite the young Merling currently wrapped around his ankles.

"Really Dawkins," _scuff_, "Old Gulchy said," _scuff_, "we were to stay put," _scuff,_ "while he and Cain chased down," _scuff_, "the Hell spawn," _scuff_, "and her older sister," _scuff,_ "something about keeping," _scuff_, "the body count down," _scuff_, "Dawkins!"

"Nonsense," the big galoot scoffed loftily, "as the eldest princess' noble guard, it is our bounded duty to place ourselves in harm's way irregardless of the occasion, whether it be an assassination attempt or drunken carouse. Most especially if it is a drunken carouse. You been gaining weight?" he added cheerfully.

_Deities I hope so,_ Tam thought desperately, even as he groaned in despair…and a little road rash – who'd tracked those pebbles in? – whenever Dawkins spoke like that it meant he was darkness-bent on some sort of mischief and giving subtle notice that he wasn't to be dissuaded. _Scuff._

"Dawkins, _please_…" he pled, _scuff_, wishing ruefully that his supposed innocent look came equipped with the kind of blue-eyed gaze that made the Crown Princess so indomitable. Alas that his eyes were more of an amber hue – of course, her being female probably helped with the whole gaze at mankind and turn them into mush thing. _Scuff._ He really shouldn't have to beg his fellow guards to follow their superior's commands…

"Shh!" the colossal pain interrupted suddenly.

"_Hurk!_" Tam opined as he was abruptly seized by the scruff of the neck and hauled into the shadows. "What…?"

"_Shh!_" Dawkins commanded again, his hazel eyes bright with the kind of glee that made most people (Tam included) nervous.

"An' I'ma tellin' you," announced another voice entirely as the former resistance fighter forced his comrade into silence, "I'ma tellin' yooo tha' there'sh ta be no touchin' of da butt! Illegabu…illegagable…illegible…no' 'egal manoofer. Han'soff. Iff'n ya wanna grabba butt, yoosh can grab Gulsch. He'sh all tied up at da mo'ent, canna 'scape. Mined," the Crown Princess slurred cheerfully as the Tin Man came into view, hauling two extremely inebriated princesses over his shoulders, "'e'll freak ou' iff'n ya do, bu' it outta be 'ilarious ta watch."

"_Yes_," Dawkins breathed rapturously whilst Tam hoped he might remember certain people would need to breathe soon, "Please _do_."

"I dun wanna freak ou' Gulsch," the elder princess replied much her guard's disappointment, "I wanna ans'er ta my queshion an' Cain won' ans'er lesson I glares at 'im anna canna glare at'im lesson I look'im in da facesh, an'is butt ish da only firm 'and'old for da porpose."

"It ish firm," Princess DG agreed fairly, "da pantsh clear'y sho' dat. Yoo kno'what dey dunnot sho' doe?"

"Whu?"

"Unnerwear lines," the Hero of the Eclipse informed them, "Now iff'n Gulsch weresh wearin' des pantsh, yud kno' 'xactly wher'is boxshers ish…"

"Boxshers?"

"Kinda unnerwear."

"How do you know what kind of underwear Gulch wears?" Cain and Princess Azkadellia demanded as one – at least so Tam assumed the eldest princess meant, Dawkins was currently shaking him so hard with suppressed laughter it was getting hard to apply the necessary concentration to the conversation. The Tin Man, however, had certainly said it, and in the kind of tone that generally made brave men run for their lives.

"Ish wha'e's worn effa since I accshident'ly fed 'is pantsh t'a grain auger," the Crown Princess replied with complete unconcern, "tinks ish less embarashin' ta run 'rounda coun'ryshide in boxshers den tigh'ee whi'ees…do _yoosh_ wear tigh'ee whi'ees Cain?" she demanded with sudden avid interest.

Tam was finally allowed to breathe as Dawkins dropped him in favour of grabbing a pillar to hold himself up. The Tin Man's face, once he'd fully understood the question posed, was the kind you wanted to frame and put on the wall for your eternal amusement – if you could manage it without getting shot.

"'e's no' ans'erin' our queshions tanigh'," the eldest princess complained.

"Weesh can a'ways findout for 'selves," Princess DG pointed out determinedly.

"Indee'."

No, Tam corrected himself as the Tin Man yelp-er-_protested_ and spun about frantically trying to escape the princesses' exploration, _this_ was the expression one wanted to preserve for all posterity, if one wanted to die, that is. Eyes almost as fiery as his face, Cain managed to cow the palace guards into opening the doors and pledging eternal silence on the matter without ever having uttered a word.

"Da pantsh are verwee tight," Princess Azkadellia commented as the trio disappeared into the palace.

"Y-you are on guard d-duty tonight, right?" Dawkins demanded, struggling to steady his voice.

"Yes."

"_Excellent!_" the big guard crowed, immediately steering his smaller peer in the direction of the palace entrance.

Tam didn't think it was excellent. Old Gulchy seemed to have a reasonable understanding of the fact that the youngest princess tended to do whatever the youngest princess decided to do, but the Tin Man went all starving Papay on any guard that let her out of their sight for the briefest of instances. Of course, that was probably because she managed to be long gone before anyone had a chance to miss her when they did. And it was his bad luck that she'd taken her sister with her this time – how the witch had they gotten out of that room unnoticed? – and if ever the Tin Man was looking for an excuse to shoot someone…

…but he w_as_ on duty tonight, and his charge _had_ gone that way, so manfully, Tam Merling followed.

By the time the guards had caught up to the revellers, the Crown Princess was teaching her sister the lyrics to a song that doubtless accounted for Cain's impressive increase in speed despite his current burdens.

"Cain'shnot wearin' unnerwear taday, 'e's no' wearin' unnerwear taday, _not_ tha' we really care musch abou' 'e's unnerwear – 'cause iff'n 'e's not wearin' it whose ta care wher'it'is…"

The Tin Man almost shattered the doorframe forcing his way into the eldest princess' room.

"Here," Cain growled, "give me a hand with her," and, with the guards' help, eased Princess Azkadellia off his shoulder and into her bed. Tam awkwardly set about removing her shoes and pulling the blankets over her while the Tin Man shifted the youngest princess into a more comfortable – for her – position in his arms. It was amazing that he still had the strength left not to drop her.

"Yoosh forgo'ta shnap my corshet shtrings," the eldest princess informed them sleepily.

The young guard looked at her in surprise; he'd thought she was already out like an eclipse.

"Gulsch always cutsh my corshet shtrings," she added, causing everyone in the room to freeze in shock.

Everyone except the Crown Princess, that is, who giggled and murmured dreamily, "'e woul'," before nestling her head up against the Tin Man's shoulder, effectively deteriorating his concentration in the situation at hand.

"Not comferbly ta shleep wif the shtrings tied tigh'," Princess Azkadellia continued much to Tam's relief – it was a much less lethal picture forming now than the one he'd had a few moments ago, he liked Old Gulchy, for all his strange ways, and would prefer if the Consort didn't have him executed, "Some'un's gotta shnap da strings. Getting' rid o' da corshet woul' be betta."

_Relief over_, the young Merling thought with a helpless glance at the Tin Man – undressing the princess was decidedly _not_ in the job description. Dawkins, he noted sourly, had somehow transported himself out of the hazard zone and was looking decidedly smug about it.

"Just call one of her maids up," Cain suggested mercifully, "I'll go tuck DG in."

"Aw," Dawkins cooed innocently, "how fatherly of you."

The Tin Man pin wheeled off of the doorframe as his head whipped around to glare at the guard. Unfortunately for the effect he wished to instil, the Crown Princess chose that moment to rouse herself from her near slumber to declare, "I dun nee'da maid, Cain can undresh me ta bed jusht fine."

It's apparently hard even for the Tin Man to maintain a death glare when he was also trying hard not to blush.

"Don't forget to kiss her goodnight!" the suicidal guard called after them merrily.

Tam didn't see what the Tin Man ran into this time, but from the resultant crash he was willing to bet the only reason Cain's revolver remained in the holster was because hands were currently full of princess.

"Great Gale," Dawkins announced, "I _love_ my life," then, his eyes glinting mischief, he added, "Don't you have a princess to be undressing?"

Glaring for all he was worth – and not getting anywhere with it – Tam Merling damn near broke the cord ringing the bell.


	6. Nutballs R' Us

_Disclaimer: In case anyone has forgotten, I do not own Tin Man._

_Author's Note: BLAAAARGH! It has been decided, I am shooting this narrator at the next available opportunity – and how convenient, I do believe the bullets are due to fly just a few chapters from now. Oh, don't worry, it's not one of the dwarves, though he is Gulch Verse 'canon' – have fun finding him. And as a note to Bookworm Gal: I swooped like an owl, toyed with 'im like a cat, and stomped on him with the booted foot of the farm girl I am. Narrators should not mess with me, now on to the next. Here kitty, kitty, kitty…_

* * *

><p>...<p>

* * *

><p>Argus Flynt was a professional. Born into a military family, trained in the art of combat almost from the day he'd taken his first step, by the time he was twenty he was commanding his own unit of the Royal Army, his path to a distinguished career all but assured. When the Sorceress Coup put paid to that idea, he'd been in frontlines of reorganizing the scattered remains of the loyal Crown forces into the first of the resistance. For almost a decade of the ever desperate struggle to rid the O.Z. of the darkness that was the Sorceress' reign, Argus ran dangerous commando raids against the Longcoat forces. With the witch's downfall, Flynt became instrumental as a member of the hastily reformed Royal Army as it scrambled to put a quick end to the worsening civil war and keep the circling enemies of the O.Z. at bay. Ever loyal to Queen and Crown, when the summons went out for volunteers in the reformation of the Royal Guard, Argus didn't hesitate a moment to step forward. He was a slipper-in after all, he was one of the most decorated soldiers in the Realm, he was arguably one of the most experienced veterans to be had, he was dedicated, he was steadfast…<p>

…he was getting to be altogether too good at the daft Otherside game of throwing cards into a hat for no other reason than to see if one could. It was an uninspiring game made for the mind headcasingly bored, he considered, flicking a two of emeralds into the pageboy's (confiscated) hat, which explained why he was so all fired good at it. And when was the last time anyone saw a headcase get bored anyhow?

The guard sighed and flicked three of emeralds in after the two. It hadn't always been thus. In the first few months after the Tin Man had put together the Crown Princess' protection detail they'd all got plenty of action…guarding the rest of the Royal Family while Cain single-handedly ensured that no harm come to the youngest princess. But that had been okay by Argus, he was a professional and as long as there was work to do, he'd be right there doing it – even if it did mean occasionally protecting the Sorceress – former Sorceress – from assassins on both sides of the war. Then, unfortunately, things had begun to calm down, the other units got formed and settled in, leaving the Princess DG's guard to…

Sighing again, Argus sent another card in after the others. What really bugged him, though, was not the lull in action, aggravating as that was, but the fact that there was guarding going on right under his nose, in plain sight, in this very palace, while a Flynt sat on his duff – he scowled as he almost missed with the queen of light – flicking cards at a hat!

The infinitely respected Hero of the Eclipse Wyatt Cain had gone through the lists of every soldier, guard and tin man available in order to put together a detail of the best of the best professional fighters and bodyguards to be had – and they were lucky to be allowed to escort the youngest princess across the palace grounds without having the Tin Man along to supervise. Commander Gulch, meanwhile, had dumped over a barrel of mobats and, for all appearances, picked through the dregs at random and called it a day. He'd hired a _baby_ for Ozma's sake. _And_ a rent-a-guard, not to mention a…a…sure the _Gillikin_ made sense, everyone in the O.Z. knew their worth, but how should an Othersider…and don't even get him started on the subject of Dawkins. That a man who'd been booted after only _three months_ in the Royal Army for (hilarious) conduct unbecoming of an officer should be selected for a _princess'_ protection detail, even if she did used to be a Sorceress…

And yet a good friend of the Flynt's had been punched in the face for daring to have something approaching credentials, poor fellow had almost burst into tears when he found out about the twelve year old getting the job instead. And to add gunshot wound to gravity, when the infant had actually managed to _lose_ his respective princess for a few hours, had anything similar to the Wrath of Cain that had rained down on one of Argus' fellow guards befallen him? No, the Othersider had only muttered a few disrespectful words regarding _DG_ – without the merest hint of a title – as if that were the only explanation required (okay, so he might have a point there) – and set forth with the Tin Man as if princesses touring taverns were the most natural thing in the world.

The man, Flynt concluded, adding yet another card to the growing stack in the hat, was a lunatic, albeit a nice one. Perfectly friendly. There just had to be something wrong with the air on the Otherside, if the youngest princess, or indeed the Consort, were anything to go by. And it just didn't seem right that…

"Um, excuse me," a voice interrupted his thoughts, nearly making Argus miss his latest toss.

The guard swallowed a curse as he looked up at the Othersider who, by some malicious quirk of fate, outranked him – as did the other guards in the room.

"I was hoping to ask one of you a favour," Officer Gulch began sheepishly – _sheepishly,_ a commander should not appear before his subordinates looking sheepish – "due to certain, ah, circumstances," – certain circumstances being that the eldest princess was mad as possession at her Othersider and there wasn't a denizen of the palace that didn't know it – "I'm, er, having a bit of trouble Princess Azkadellia's security" – the trouble being that she'd banned him from her presence, what kind of professional lets himself get _banned_ from his charge's presence? – "and I was hoping to borrow a guard in order to fill in the holes in the current schedule…"

Argus Flynt abruptly set his playing cards down. It was a protection detail, an _actual_ protection detail, Sorcer – _former_ Sorceresses be damned.

"I already cleared it with the Tin Man," the Othersider assured them, while across the room the man technically in charge of the Crown Princess' protection detail attempted to look affronted by this. He gave up after only a moment, the witch with technicalities, everyone knew who really ran the unit; in fact, some had begun to wonder who actually ran the Royal Army as well.

Every guard in the room shifted subtly as they watched their 'superior' realize that as the nominal guard commander he couldn't assign himself to the detached detail. "I'll see who's available," the man remarked dryly, surveying the room, "and send him by in, say, an hour?"

"Great," Commander Gulch replied, relieved, "first shift starts at eleven bells this evening," he said, making his way out the door, "if anyone needs me, I'll be in the kitchen."

_What's he doing in the...?_

"So," the guard commander remarked, obliterating the professional's thought as the door closed on the Othersider, "any volunteers?"

The members of the Crown Princess' protection detail were, to a man, professionals, they didn't raise their hands…

…they went for their knives.

"Everyone still has Royal Duty to stand," the commander commented, making his way to the window, "no visible wounds allowed. Or fatalities," he added as an afterthought.

Half a dozen blades sunk into the far wall as their respective professionals accepted the challenge placed before them. Pandemonium ensued.

Less than a week later, nursing four bruised ribs, a sprained pinkie, and a wrenched – but Viewer healed – knee, Argus Flynt, resident best of the best of the best, temporary guard in the eldest princess' protection detail, and most profitable bet a certain _unnamed_ individual had ever made, only had one question in life.

What in the name of all the deities was Old Gulchy _doing_ in that tree?


	7. Ambrosia

_Disclaimer: Synapses don't own shit._

_Author's Note: AAAAARRRRRRGGGGGHHHHHH! *picks up The Super Cattle Prod of Doom* fizzle. Drat it, it's out of juice. Thanks for the loan anyhow Bookworm Gal. Golden Roya, my apologies, this is not really the chapter I promised you, what, a year ago or so? It seems that He Who Refuses to Muse and Now Won't Shut Up lost my amusing blueprint. So you're stuck with this. Quality Control passed it, and while I am highly suspicious of her current powers of concentration, 1 rejected chapter, 5 partial chapters, and an untold number of abandoned starts, I'm darn well posting it. Even if I'm worried the QC is currently under the influence of baby brain. Sigh, so many good opportunities for fun AN stories missed…Tales of the New Roommate, the epic battle of car vs ditch, the internship that wiped the floor with me (but I still passed), the fact that I am now an aunt…Could my narrators please start cooperating? I'll sic my niece on you, she's lethally cute. Beguiled away all my writing time when I was in the same province as her…_

_Sigh. Sorry for the very long delay folks, I will endeavour to get my muse back on track. *glares at chapter* I really don't like this one. Three bloody months to write…_

* * *

><p>...<p>

* * *

><p>It had been so easy once: a question, a thought, a diversion of attention, an idea that would spark, grow, flow, join with other thoughts, form a chain of logic, and evolve into concepts. Tangents would develop, be chased down, followed, lead to theories and hypotheses. Variables to be pondered, explanations to be examined, accepted or discarded, studied in depth, reimagined, reformulated, tested and re-tested. The beautiful process of creation, of knowing, of taking abstract thought into concrete reality, so simple it had been before his synapses were broken…<p>

_…Synapses were such funny things_…

…in that time lost beyond the rainbow. He had been eager then, annoyed by the O.Z.'s view of technology, the way it ignored the sciences in favour of a magic solution. Ambrose had sought to fill in the gaps, to reconcile the forces of the universe, to understand how they functioned, interacted and interconnected…

…_the pooling of input from alternate sources affecting the resultant output_…

…physics was not to be forgotten, nor was the light. Both must be considered, measured and calculated, combined if anything were to be created. A balance must be created between the oft opposing forces, an equilibrium carefully maintained in the most complex of devices, those that were the most helpful…or destructive when twisted…

…_.Brains and tin men didn't go together_…

…The TDESPHTL hadn't been meant to be a torture device, and the stasis unit prototype had been intended for preventing food spoilage …

…_the heartless always tried to shoot the brainy_…

Othersiders had a saying: necessity is the mother of invention. Not so in the O.Z., here there were other ways. What need was there for healers with in depth knowledge of bodily structure and function when there were Viewers on hand to heal with a touch? Best leave it to them as they could See their way clearer - until war came to the O.Z. and not a Viewer was to be found outside the clutches of the enemy, leaving the resistance to fight blind. No more instant healing, necessity was a harsh teacher, but then soldiers had always the best knowledge of anatomy – they'd needed to know where to shoot or stab after all…

…_That couldn't be right. That couldn't be right. That couldn't_…

…Of course, the cop was fond of the saying about curiosity and the cat, but the Royal Advisor couldn't help but find the brain so fascinating…

…_The meeting of axon terminal and dendrite branch the microscopic chemical switchboard in the propagation of the electric signal_…

…but then, so had the Alchemists…

…_the ultra-tiny cracks in the nervous system, far too miniscule for any zipper to close…_

…and now there was self that was not self. There had been no room for self in the jar, just the relevant cortex, the necessary memories, the correct pathways and thought processes…

…_relaying information to and from the central nervous system via excitatory or inhibitory outputs_…

…self would not have been safe in the jar, too vulnerable, unable to affect the Realm as a mere bundle of cells…

…_where tiny molecules passed electrochemical messages from one neuron to the next_…

…self had to stay with the body, with the keeper of self, the not self built from the empty shell of the life that was Ambrose, the other that both did and did not share the experiences that had made the Royal Advisor himself. The self restructured, his existence gutted, his character traits reorganized, reprioritized into a him that wasn't him – self had sacrificed his brain to protect the O.Z., not self had reclaimed it to save his friends. Saving the Realm was incidental…

…_like so many tin men and their little dogs, too_…

…Not self was a glitch in the system, an unanticipated, moderately functional compilation of synapses…

…_were a junction between cells where tiny molecules passed electrochemical messages from one neuron to the next_…

…with an operating level well above normal. Headcases weren't generally expected to live very long. Robbed of true self, of life skills, and often of basic reasoning, the Alchemotimized individuals had lacked crucial survival skills, had limited ability to care for themselves, and without aid most hadn't lasted an annual. The Sorceress' O.Z. hadn't been one in which aid was often given freely, and helping zipperheads was dangerous – you never knew who or what they had been.

Ambrose had been lucky. Those other few headcases who had survived the war had been remanded into the gentle care of the Viewers – where they would no doubt remain for the rest of their lives. There had been only one case of marbles in jars; once their secrets had been stolen their annihilated minds had been discarded. The Sorceress had not been one to leave the slightest ray of hope lying about if she could help it. Much as the Royal Advisor hated to see his inventions turned on those he served, the Sunseeder (which was _not_ a foolish invention, he didn't care what certain farm cop Othersiders said about the global effects of messing with the growing season – even if a certain farm girl princess backed him up), or rather the Anti-Sunseeder, had saved him, not only in preserving his severed brain hemisphere, but in keeping his synapses…

…_over which neurotransmitters were fired across_…

…active. Glitch, meanwhile, had survived, the not self thriving, finding friends, finding the _princess_, finding the truth and his marbles, helping to defeat the Sorceress, save the O.Z., reclaiming said marbles…

…_and sometimes they argued_…

…and sticking around afterward to annoy the ever loving self out of self.

…_and sometimes they argued_…

Faulty corpus callosum repair was Ambrose's theory.

…_and sometimes they argued_…

The Royal Advisor's right hand shot out to smack him not self squarely across the jaw, breaking the glitching loop before it became paralysing. His left hand quivered momentarily, as if considering joining the fray…

…_well they did_…

…before subsiding along with his other self, leaving Ambrose in full control once more.

It wasn't that bad, he supposed, there were certain benefits to having two selves to a whole. One never got lonely, for example, or bored – not that he'd ever got bored before, but this way he was guaranteed an intelligent conversation of equal…

…_Synapses were such funny things_…

…near equal…

…_The meeting of axon terminal and dendrite branch_…

…mostly intelligent…

…_the microscopic chemical switchboard in the propagation of the electric signal_…

…vaguely resembling intelligence…

…_the ultra-tiny cracks in the nervous system, far too miniscule for any zipper to close…_

…had that thought already…

…_over which neurotransmitters were fired across like so many tin men and their little dogs, too_…

…two hundred and fifty-six times…

…_what? Neurotinmen? That couldn't be right. That couldn't be right. That couldn't_…

…today…

…_be right. Brains and tin men didn't go together_…

…oh, shut up…

…_the heartless always tried to shoot the brainy..._

I'll look down...

…_Synapseswereajunctionbetween cellswheretinymoleculespasse delectrochemicalmessagesfrom oneneurontothenext, ,thepoolingofinputfromalterna tesourcesaffectingtheresulta ntoutput:sometimesthecombinationofsyn apsesamplifiedtheensuingsign al,sometimestheydeadenedit_…

…oh, hey, look at the ground! Isn't it so very far away?

…_and sometimes they argued_! The other self shrieked as he dove for the amygdala.

Admittedly, that hadn't been the nicest thing to do – Ambrose didn't like bullies any more than the next person – but Glitch responded to the merest thought or mention of synapses-

_Synapses were such funny things_…

-like a clarion call, and the Royal Advisor couldn't just _not_ think about things. Besides, looking down (_yipe!_) was its own punishment. True, he was developing a newfound appreciation for heights – best thinking time he'd had in over a decade – but like his mental counterpart, he couldn't quite feel easy about the hole in the floor. It was a ridiculous waste of space, eliminating most of what should be usable floor – providing an excellent view of the earth below without to anything to prevent you from getting a much closer look. Given that the munchkin basket was currently suspended from the highest tower of Central City Palace, that wasn't a force-mass-acceleration equation that Ambrose cared to demonstrate.

Good thing, then, that the Tin Man had secured both the hanging basket and Royal Advisor with plenty of rope, thus preventing either from following the path of gravity, no matter how much wind there was. And Alchemist was there wind – the woven branches were currently beating against the palace with a steady-

_Rhythm!_

-Ground (_yikes_)!

…Ambrose may have a new, understandable fondness for heights, but it was doubtful he was ever going to enjoy wind. At least he knew ropes tied by Cain would hold – the Royal Advisor was often of two minds (_literally_ – seriously, I will start calculating the force of impact) regarding the Tin Man but he never doubted the man's competence. Just his sanity. Especially when he got that look in his eye, that psychotic, enraged, vengeful, imminent doom-

-_the heartless always tried to shoot the brainy-_

-look that indicated overzealous punishment was forthcoming. Which was entirely unfair-

-_princess barhopping incident-_

-I had nothing to do with that. Self had quite strenuously pointed out to not self, with emphasis regarding the possible dangers entailed – especially those involving the eldest princess – what a bad idea the entire scheme represented. He'd have drawn a graph had someone spared him the time. Though to be fair to Glitch, the two princesses were a combination guaranteed to rob the Royal Advisor of the very capacity for intelligent synaptic conductance in very short order – particularly if they wanted something. The Tin Man could have considered that fact before meting out punishment to innocent, well mostly innocent, bystanders, alas that he was just as powerless as anyone when faced with the princesses, and deities knew Cain had to punish someone.

There was a reason the Tin Man was on Ambrose's list of the most highly illogic and irrational beings of the O.Z. He wasn't particularly high on the list – the entire munchkin race made sure of that – and the Royal Advisor would admit that most of his decisions did stem from perfectly rational motives and conclusions. The only trouble was that Cain's personal traumas, psychosis, – _Boy Scout Syndrome_ – and general paranoia resulting in his behaviour promptly exiting all normative parameters and heading straight into the Realm of the Unreasonable. It was completely counterproductive to treat the symptoms while coddling the cause after all.

Probably didn't help that the _cause_ of Ambrose's currently multi-faceted mixed predicament (because he really was enjoying the comparatively unbroken thinking time, his thoughts were mostly being annotated, really, rather than interrupted) was the current holder of the number two spot on the list. Personally the Royal Advisor felt it was not the Crown Princess' fault: she had obviously spent too many annuals in the Realm of the O.Z.'s most illogic and irrational being – though technically he wasn't actually a denizen of the O.Z. – an experience that had evidently done irreparable harm to her judgement and decision making process. Leastwise, Ambrose was only aware of one other person with a similar penchant for the random climbing of trees…

…and what was that about anyhow? Both halves of the Royal Advisor's brain had been wracking the synapses - _!_...don't even think about it – and not even Glitch could fathom the reason behind climbing a tree that was neither fruit bearing nor a more reliable means of ascent than, for example, the stairs. What they were lacking, unfortunately, was basically all relevant facts that might possibly allow him to infer motive for an Othersider in a tree. That was the problem with observational studies, there was no knowing causation, only correlation, and apparently policemen in trees correlated precisely with the kind of disaster that Gulch was becoming known for.

It had been rather interesting to track his process: one minute he'd been in the tree testing the tensile strength of his chosen branch, the next instant he'd been demonstrating that force-mass-acceleration equation the Royal Advisor was so anxious to avoid. About the time the cop was demonstrating the concept of inertia, with particular attention to forces required to stop an object in motion, Ambrose had found himself agreeing with Gulch: physics hated him, that or gravity loved him so much it was ever seeking a closer acquaintance. A whimsical thought that the rather disgruntled Royal Advisor had regarded with suspicion and would have blamed on the zipperhead if it hadn't been for the abrupt disappearance of the cop. Ambrose recognized the eldest princess' handiwork when he saw it, and that had been the end his observations for the day.

Glitch hadn't been particularly happy with having control foisted on him whilst looking down (_hey!_), but then the headcase was rather unreasonable on the subject of irrational fears for a man who'd given a three week long lecture on phobias to a certain noble idiot not too long ago. He could harp on the innocence of Azkadee all he wanted, not self hadn't come into existence until after the 'little brain-ripping incident'. Glitch hadn't been the one on that table watching them…waiting for them to…

…and was self the only person to have noticed that Princess Azkadellia was getting scarier these days? She'd been so meek and retiring after the Eclipse that Ambrose had felt a complete lion for being even a little (_a little?_) afraid of her, but recently…recently even not self had to admit to being scared.

_Do not._

He would if he was being honest.

_My synapses may not fire right but my memory is perfectly…what were we talking about again?_

The fact that both selves are equally afraid of the eldest princess.

_Am not._

Submarine incident.

_Doesn't count._

Does, you were afraid the princess wanted to kill you.

_I was afraid they all wanted to kill me, and they did, you were the one that decided to run._

It's called survival instincts, look them up, they're in the hindbrain. And it all goes to prove my point…

_Wait, you had a point? When did you make a point?_

…that Officer Gulch clearly had a destabilizing influence on the eldest princess' mental state…

_I don't remember this point, did you make while I was napping in the motor cortex?_

…and his tenure as guard commander ought to be reconsidered.

_You didn't make it out loud did you?!_

Look, ground.

…_Nope, I find your point far more terrifying and dangerous than any minor altercation with terminal velocity._

See, you are afraid of her, and the commencement of princess' aberrant behaviour can be directly traced back to the time of the Othersider's arrival in the O.Z.

…

Observation of dramatic mood swings has been increasing in frequency, all of which can be correlated with interactions between princess and cop.

…

Not to mention the recent incident that resulted in a foolhardy drinking binge and our subsequent banishment to the top of the north tower.

…

There is therefore sufficient evidence to suggest that the policeman should be removed from Princess Azkadellia's vicinity.

_Hey Ambrose, I looked up those instincts you were talking about, ever notice the hindbrain is fairly close to the visual cortex? You know that thing that is supposed to be interpreting input from your EYES?_

Like the visual information regarding the distance from our feet to the ground?

_I think it's nice having Gulch around._

I didn't mean that…stop that, it is entirely unnerving to have the sensation of being stared at by one's own brain…you're just so…so…so caught up in a glitch right now.

Sighing, Ambrose tucked his not self away in a cosy sulcus and decided to take advantage of the chance to finish his thought.

He hadn't meant that Gulch should be entirely removed from his position – current data showed a statistical decreased incidence of attempted regicide since the Othersider had put the eldest princess' protection detail together. He was obviously having a positive effect on the security of the Realm…even if he did have the disconcerting tendency to use logic and common sense in an argument without having shown any indication of applying the concepts to real life…

…but that wasn't the point. The point was that with a few careless words, the man in charge of her safety was capable of rendering the eldest princess utterly miserable. Glitch may not have noticed while he was busy further disrupting the synapses with alcohol, but, shielded by the amygdala, Ambrose had. The Royal Advisor knew what it was like to have his mind wrested from his control, to have his very self turned from the path self would have chosen, and while the residual not self was a nuisance, at least it was a benevolent nuisance. Officer Gulch meant well, but if his presence was going to upset Princess Azkadellia, maybe it was best he guarded her from a greater distance. She's already been through enough…

…why did he feel like there was a headcase staring at him like he was the biggest scarecrow in the Realm?


	8. Good Intentions

_Disclaimer: …Trying to think of something funny…trying to think of something funny…oh screw it, don't own Tin Man or the song I altered._

_Author's Note: Well, I am trying to get muse back to our usual writing frequency, but am currently hobbled by the fact that I need her for one of my school projects – am writing a children's book. Would you believe that I actually had to do some convincing for my group to choose doing a book over, say a workshop or a business plan? I mean, really. People are so strange – though it probably helped in my argument that I could basically hand them a plot on the spot as soon as the deciding vote was cast. Hurrah for the Evil Smurf, she has some uses after all. How cool would it be if we could actually get it published?_

_PS Some of you may notice a certain...omission...yes, I did it on purpose. I have my reasons._

* * *

><p><em><em>_..._

* * *

><p><em>The majestic Queen of the O.Z…<em>

She had promised herself one thing, back before the beginning of it all…

_Had two lovely daughters she…_

…before Lilo brushed her hand that first time, the sudden knowledge in his eyes…

_One to darkness she be drawn…_

…before the Othersider had slipped into her heart…

_One to light she be shown…_

…before she had the power to change anything at all…

_Double eclipse it is foreseen…_

…she'd promised herself…

_Light meets dark in the stillness between…_

…her children would not be used, would not be bartered, would not be owned…

_But only one and one alone…_

…her daughters would not be sacrificed…

_Shall hold the emerald and take the throne…_

…not even for the O.Z…

_The majestic Queen of the O.Z…_

…she'd promised herself…

_Had two lovely daughters she…_

…she'd promised them…

She had been very young when she had made that promise, naïve and innocent, but so very earnest. Watching the nobles marry their children off for political gain, watching her own cousins bartered for alliances, shipped across the Shifting Sands for the sake of the O.Z…and away from any thoughts of succession to the throne. The then Crown Princess of the O.Z. had sworn to herself that would not be her fate, nor the fate of her children. Born responsible for the safety of the Realm they may be, but it could not steal their happiness, could not be allowed to take their choices from them, this she had sworn.

And had been forsworn.

Perhaps for Azkadellia there had been no choice, her fate carved in moritanium from the moment she followed her little sister into that cave. The Queen would that she could know this was so, that she hadn't abandoned her child to fifteen annuals of enslavement and darkness because she'd been too weak, too blind to find the way to save her. She'd like to think that there were no other options, even though she can't help but look for them annuals after they could do nothing else than break her heart with what might have been. Even though the thought that she might have prevented it all was like poison in her heart…

…but there hadn't been a viable alternative – although she could think of one person who might think to disagree – and the delay to search for one had proven fatal…

…and then DG's fate had been sealed as well.

The decision had been the Queen's to make, from the moment she'd sacrificed her light – not for the O.Z., but for her _daughter_ – there'd been but a few paths along the brick road for her to choose from. She could have sent her into hiding with her father, trusting in the anonymity of Realm of the Unwanted to mask her presence – but how could a child like DG not betray her existence, so dangerously close to home? Ahamo would have given anything to have been able to keep even one of his girls with him, but she could not allow it. Nor could she have smuggled the youngest princess across the Shifting Sands to be shielded by their supposed allies. What a lovely bargaining chip to hand them: a royal hostage, or still worse, a coveted gift for them to hand right back to that witch the moment the Sorceress gained control of the Realm.

If there was one thing the Queen would not do, she would _not_ force her eldest daughter to murder her sister twice. She could protect Az from that at least.

And so she had used the last of her light – so little remained to her, so little would _ever_ remain – used the very essence of her soul to rip from her child the memories of her family, of her life, to seal away her light, to steal away her very identity and cast her into exile. DG was the key, the O.Z.'s one hope, and so the majestic Queen of the O.Z. had sacrificed her angel to the Realm, binding her mind in magic, blocking from the knowledge of her past, keeping her in ignorance, keeping her safe, until the time was right to send her into danger once more. Like a pawn on a board game, just as she'd vowed she'd never let her daughters be.

It almost makes it worse, sometimes, that they do not blame her in the least. It may have been the only way to keep her alive but DG hardly even seems to have noticed what was done to her, accepting the complete overthrow of all she knew in life with the kind of unflinching optimism that only the happiest of childhoods could provide. And Azkadellia…her Azkadellia who'd faced fifteen annuals of darkness all alone, who'd been freed only to be subjected to the hatred of an entire Realm, who even now could not sleep for the nightmares born of memory…who, with the heart breaking acknowledgement of the monarch she could no longer be allowed to be, _agreed_ with all that her mother had done. The Queen had never thought to feel the pain that was the complete and utter forgiveness of the daughter she'd allowed to be broken…

…_if we truly want to honour the struggles and the sacrifice of the people, as well rejoice in their success we should make it something more, something bigger…_

…or maybe not completely broken. The smallest of sad smiles quivered at the corner of the Queen's mouth. After an annual and a half of watching Azkadellia shrink and flinch before the people that _should_ have been her subjects, it was the first time the Queen had felt hope that the damage they – _she_ – had done her daughter need not be permanent. That maybe that sacrifice could be rewarded…her smile grew fierce as her thoughts shifted to the battle of the oblivious and the cruel. The nobles had never thought, after an annual and a half of being allowed to throw apples at the eldest princess…

_ …Don't listen to the mean man, he doesn't intend to be stupid, his education is merely lacking…_

…that someone would start throwing them back.

The Queen twirled the metal loop around her finger contemplatively.

Officer Gulch. Such a strange, Otherside name, but then, she'd always known they'd named their children oddly on the other side of the rainbow. All things considered, the policeman got off easy – leastwise no one had felt it necessary to rename him immediately upon his arrival. That or DG wouldn't let them. Her angel was oddly protective of the Othersider…the Othersider, how strange it was to think of the man as thus when for so long…odd in that DG's defence of the cop followed no rules that the long reigning monarch could fathom. It was okay for Cain to abduct the man, it was absolutely fine for the Royal Family to draft him into the Royal Guard, and under no circumstances was he to be told he had a choice about the matter, but if he ever asked to go home he was to be sent back 'on the first tornado out of here, no ifs, ands, or buts about it.'

_"I meant it, Y-…Mother, you have to let him go, if he asks to go home. I won't let him be held here against his will, no matter how Az…no matter how much I…no matter how much we need him here. I won't let him be a prisoner; I want you to promise me, if he _asks, _he goes home."_

_"But of course, Angel, if you wish we could tell him-"_

_ "NO! You can't tell him!"_

_ "Why ever not?"_

_ "Because if you tell him, you'll force him to decide and Mr. Uber Honest Copitude might decide it's his duty to return or something and I-Az-we don't want him to go. So don't go making think he has to decide."_

_ "How is that any different from keeping here against his will?"_

_ "Of course it's different, because if the Menace actually wanted to go back to Kansas, believe me, we'd know – and I don't mean by the grumbling and the snide comments he thinks nobody hears, Gulch just does that. I mean he will let us KNOW."_

The Queen had the fanciful notion, just every once and a while, about whether it would be alright to send a few Alchemists over to the Otherside to borrow a few brains so that she could get a glimpse into their thoughts and figure out what it was about their societal child rearing that so deranged the mind. As Glitch was fond of saying, DG's synapses had certainly been rewired somewhere along the way, and as for the new Othersider, he was a complete and utter mystery. No sooner had one decided he was perfectly harmless than he went and did something like…

_"What I've always wondered is who lets young children play in a bear infested forest containing prisons for deranged wicked witches."_

…well, like what he'd just done.

She hadn't known quite what to think of him at first. Like Ahamo before him, the Othersider had an utter unconcern for royalty so complete it bordered on contemptuous; her Consort had taken to the political arena like a munchkin to rhyming, whereas Gulch…twirling the metal loops again, the Queen frowned. Practically raised in the council room, she knew better than anyone how a seemingly harmless person could turn into the most dangerous of adversaries. Even the entirely well intentioned and most honest of people could be used as pawns. Azkadellia was so vulnerable right now, in so many ways, and there was Officer Gulch, perfectly positioned should some unscrupulous person seek to turn him to their purpose. There had been many sleepless nights spent pondering the nature of the cop's character, whether he was the simple, straightforward man he seemed, or whether he was playing the deepest game the Queen had yet to witness.

It had taken DG a good twenty minutes to stop laughing at this synopsis of the problem the one time her mother had shared her concerns. Then, when her angel had realized she was serious, the slipper princess had been furious. DG trusted Officer Gulch every bit as much as she trusted Cain. The Queen had been a bit anxious, when the Othersider arrived, that he might upset the delicate balance between her daughter and the Tin Man. In the annual between the Eclipse and her first return to the Otherside, DG had been increasingly reluctant to discuss her life there – the decision to let her 'death' stand had not sat well with her – but all her stories sooner or later had her 'Menace' in them. The relationship between the cop and the youngest princess had been maddeningly impossible for the Queen to define, but if there is one thing she knew, Cain was in no mental territory to take well to the appearance of a rival…

…except that Office Gulch never had any intention of setting himself up as rival for DG's affections. However close they might have been on the Otherside, the policeman seemed quite adept at keeping just enough distance for Cain's comfort – a distance Gulch and DG seemed to adapt instinctively as the Tin Man slowly learned to trust the cop in spite of himself. And while it had been a long time since the Queen had doubted his good intentions, this was exactly the sort of thing that had her, as a person for whom it was imperative to know the motivations of everyone around her, constantly re-evaluating her assessment of the Othersider. It was incredibly frustrating.

_"They can't use him if they can't figure out what makes him tick," DG had said just three days ago, after what she'd dubbed 'Fastidium's Epic Fail', "and boy do they not know what makes him tick." With a wistful smile she'd added, "Give him a little girl to protect…" her smile turned a mischievous, "whelp, they're in for a surprise. 'Course, even I wasn't expecting the mobat. Really shouldn't have been so hard on him when stuck his foot in his mouth on the way to Central City, but he's so…if he was a knight, he'd be Sir Oblivious of Doesn't Have a Cluesville. Makes you want to shake him until the gears start moving, damn things seem rusted into place sometimes."_

_Give him a little girl to protect…_

Azkadellia was, in so many ways, still that young girl that had followed her little sister into that cave – and in so many ways she _wasn't_. Which was probably the main reason why the cop was having so much trouble with the O.Z. – well aside from his obvious difficulty with political relations; the Queen could still hear the shouting. How in the Realm had the man managed to enrage so many people in so little time? Poor man, it couldn't be easy being simultaneously the eldest princess' first crush, security blanket, unknowing suitor, guard, first love, first heartbreak, saviour, safe harbour, occasional witless idiot, knight in shining armour, friend, subject, future father of her children, protector, accidental social shield, and love of her life. Especially when no one had told him he was any of these things, or even planned to.

And alas poor Gulch that none of the Royal women had the slightest intention of making it the least bit easier for him. It was a little unfair of them, but then, the Queen considered with another turn of the metal loops, if the men in her daughters' lives insisted on being quite so difficult they deserved to be made to squirm a little. She was more than ready to be positively delighted with her daughters' choice of Consorts if they'd only just cooperate!

The Queen sighed as the sudden uproar produced by her unprecedented presence in the guard's quarters interrupted her thoughts. Men. Then again, it did make her quarry exceedingly easy to find…

"Officer Gulch?" she called, causing the man just emerging from his room to turn in surprise. He looked even more surprised when the metal loops clicked into place – the Queen did feel a bit bad about that, but then, he had just dropped a political furor on her lap. Cleaning it up was going to take all day. "I'm sorry, Mr. Gulch," she continued, as the cop inspected the bindings now attaching him to the conveniently placed wardrobe, "you are a good man but you are a walking, talking, political, economic and domestic disaster. Not to say that what you did in the council chamber wasn't fantastic, much as the truth may hurt, but the rest of the chaos you left in your wake I could do without at the moment. If would do me the favour of staying put for a bit? Thank you. I'll have Az come let you free when we are done. Oh, and I'd stay out of the kitchens for a while if I were you."

She had to agree with Azkadellia, she considered as strode back towards the council chambers, that dumbfounded expression really was cute. The man must have the patience of a…oh what was the word? It was Otherside creation, some sort of deity related martyr or self-sacrificing…masochist? No, that couldn't be it, she was pretty sure it rhymed with taint, except that it meant a really good person – and if there was one thing the Queen no longer doubted, it was that Officer Gulch was a good person. The stories DG could tell – if it weren't for the tic toks' post mission debriefing she'd have long since sent Raw over to the Otherside to cure the women of whatever dread disease it was that had allowed the policeman to remain single this long (DG had about died when she learned that particular bit of interference by the nurture units, then she'd sworn them all to secrecy because if the Menace ever found out that Emily had hobbled his love life, he was going to murder them all, starting with DG – though the Queen assumed she was exaggerating) – not to mention his actions since his arrival in the O.Z. proved that however unfathomable they might be, his thoughts belonged to a good and kind man.

And another thing, she thought as she reached the door of the guard's quarters-

"Hush-a-bye, Kansas,"the gentle voice drifting down the hallway sang,_ "_in the tree top. When the wind blows, the cradle will rock. When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall, and down will fly Kansas, cradle and all."

-Gulch and Azkadellia were going to make the _cutest_ grandbabies!

_The majestic Queen of the O.Z. had two lovely daughters she…_


	9. Disciplined

_Disclaimer: I don't own Tin Man, can we fight for it?_

_Author's Note: Writing this story is not unlike walking into the break room, interrupting a game of cards, and asking the next narrator to please follow me. I then return hours later to find the game still going and BLOODY WELL DEMAND THAT THE GUARD DROP HIS CARDS _RIGHT NOW_ AND GET MUSING. And please, don't wake Cain's dad on your way by, I locked him in the complete other side of the brain for a reason. I haven't had the chance before, due to writing delays and more pressing topics, to express my dismay at how quickly people fell in love with the fellow. I was also rather amused at how half of you instantly defended Gulch's prior claim, while the other half insisted that Az had to get in there, like right now. Thus do I eye old Jebediah warily where he lounges in front of that fire in the back of my brain – where he has been since he first arrived. Fortunately, the writing delays and muse difficulties seem to have put him to sleep. I'd kind of like him to stay there as I am a little afraid of what he might think to do next. Will he wake? I don't know. All I can confirm is that he is definitely not Gulchverse (gremlin has given a resounding no as to whether he can fit into the continuity; and brain-brain weeps for joy because he, Dawkins and Gulchverse DG can never meet). So don't want to go there. Yikes!_

_PS This one should be really easy._

_PPS Still not telling, not really._

* * *

><p>...<p>

* * *

><p>Turi Phelan wasn't one to trouble himself overmuch about the vagaries of the Royal Court. The clans of the forested mountains of Gillikin had been guarding the rulers of the shining city since before the Great Gale herself had first slipped into the Old Kingdom of Oz. When the Sorceress had begun her rise to power the mountain folk hadn't joined the resistance, they'd just plain resisted. Through all the annuals of darkness, only the northern realm had never truly been conquered. The Longcoats might've boasted otherwise, but then, not many as were alive to talk had ever so much as set foot in the Great Gillikin Forest. Average life expectancy for those traitors to the Realm had been five minutes – two if Turi was nearby. Hell, by the end of the war, the Longcoat Generals hardly ever sent troops north excepting to cull the ranks.<p>

Gillikin had sworn loyalty to rightful Queen of the O.Z.; they didn't hold truck with hastening the succession. Time was when almost the entire Royal Guard was made up of Gillikins, it'd been over ten generations since the Phelan clan _hadn't_ had at least one member in the guard – Turi himself had lost most of his immediate family in the final defence of Finaqua – so when a member of the Royal Family needed guarding, he wasn't a one to say no – even if that particular royal happened to be a Sorceress not that long ago. Darkness, wouldn't have mattered if he'd thought the House of Gale was scarecrow enough to keep a possessed princess in their midst, Turi still would have answered the call. It was the honour of the Gillikin to protect the Royal Family – even from themselves.

Blue smoke, then, that Princess Azkadellia turned out not to be possessed, just bat shit crazy and all the more scary for it – would've broke Turi's heart to kill her, especially as he'd've had to go through Gulch to do it. The Gillikin liked Officer Gulch, respected the raw determination of the man, that stubborn insistence on doing the best job he could despite being in so far over his head Papay could swim by comparison. The policeman was a good man, damn shame it was going to get him killed.

Because there was no escaping it, putting an Othersider in charge of a Royal protection detail – the eldest princess' detail no less – was nothing short of murder. Didn't sit right by Turi, slipper didn't stand a chance and the Gillikin hated to see folk he liked killed. 'Course, he'd hate it a lot more if said folk hadn't spilled all the ale.

Turi eyed the unfortunately empty depths of his mug regretfully. Men from his neck of the woods didn't ponder the meanings of the universe, they didn't contemplate, meditate nor muse, and they damn well didn't brood, but they did ruminate with the best of them. You couldn't ruminate over an empty mug of ale. Not that he could've heard a thought over the noise the Royal Army was making.

And could someone _please_ stop Lieutenant Cain describing the youngest princess already? Darkest hells, the guard knew back-woods mountain men who'd hardly seen a woman in annuals this kid could make blush.

The Royal Guard would do it himself, but he couldn't think of a way to shut him up that wouldn't start a fight. Seemed a job for the peaceable Othersider, excepting he was having a headcase moment. Now empty jug still suspended where Ol' Gulchy's hand had frozen above his overflowing mug, the guard commander was staring at the soldier with slack-jawed astonishment. There was this furious and increasingly aggressive twitch in the cop's left eye that'd stopped the Gillikin's instinctual protest to the waste of good Northern Ale. Turi couldn't blame him, the boy may be drunk but his words were going to get damn fatal damn fast. Tin Man would burn down the bar with everyone inside – shoot everyone who might've passed by, too, just in case – in order to erase even the memory of his son's, er, dubious compliments of the Crown Princess.

Fortunately a few of the soldier's Royal Army buddies seemed to know this because they shook themselves out of their shocked stupor and desperately tried to get him to switch trails. Witch's luck that they couldn't get him to switch far.

_Son of a motherless Papay_, the guard snarled silently as Jeb Cain's drunken tirade against the eldest princess of the Realm got going. Around the guards' tables conversations were dropped abruptly as first Princess Azkadellia's protection detail, then Princess DG's, and then every Royal Guard that ever spent any time near the eldest princess focused their undivided attention on the former Resistance Fighter. A tense pocket of silence grew in opposition to the malicious jeering of the resistance scum, fellow's chest must echo like a drum to even accuse her of…

_**CRACK!**_

…and that be the sound of the feather what felled the Papay tree – that or the jug handle snapping off in Ol' Gulchy's hand as he slammed it into the table…which suddenly wasn't there anymore. Turi was well aware that drink slowed a man's reflexes, but Officer Gulch had been a few kegs ahead of the Gillikin _and he hadn't even seen him move._ Jug, table and all of a sudden there's an Othersider halfway across the bar punching the Tin Man's son in the face.

"Yur gonna take tha' back," the cop was growling as Turi struggled to disentangle himself from his chair legs – seemed to have gotten himself knocked over by a solid flying object somewhere along the line, "All o' it."

"You gonna make me?" Jeb snarled, scrambling to his feet.

"Yes," Gulch stated promptly and damned if the peaceable Othersider didn't launch himself at the boy.

Which was all well and good – if the resistance fighter wanted to earn himself a thumping, he might as well get himself a thumping from the most unlikely of thumpers, even the war born brat himself seemed a might surprised by this turn of events – fair's fair…excepting for that witch bred lion-livered Longcoat fodder thinking he could get away with sucker punching _their_ guard commander…

…and there hadn't been a Phelan born that'd not object to that.

Chairs scrape back across the bar, but Turi gets there first with a lesson in fighting etiquette the man won't soon forget – once he regains consciousness. Ayan hits the ranks of soldiers surrounding Ol' Gulchy a moment later, letting them have it with outraged expression of a librarian who'd caught someone disrespecting the books. Argus and the rest of the youngest princess' protection detail are right behind him with their professional opinion of striking a superior officer…

…and then the Royal Army responds in kind. The fight lights up like a scarecrow on fire.

The first few seconds are like a Papay feeding frenzy, with every man there surging forward into the growing brawl. Turi, as one of the instigators, is right in the middle of it, and having made his initial point, is looking for a new pupil. One soldier takes one look at the Gillikin and chooses to cross his fiercely grinning detail mate instead. More fool him; didn't he know where that kid was raised? _No matter_, the guard thinks, throwing an elbow into another comer…

…only to have the both of them sent flying as Ol' Gulchy emerges from the chaos, hunting Jeb Cain with little care for what obstacles, human or otherwise, that might get in his path. Not that the lieutenant is actually trying to escape, it's just that every solid blow the one manages to land sends the other stumbling far enough into the melee that it takes a determined effort to get back into striking distance. As the two main combatants disappear back into the fracas, the guard's opponent tries to take advantage of the disruption only to discover his war buddy had a reason to avoid tangling with the Gillikin.

The bearded Phelan might be short, but he's built like a bear and, according to a certain guard commander, has a distinct center of mass advantage. Turi doesn't know Otherside physics from sand in a desert, but he figures it means that the seasoned soldier isn't a problem for very long. Two down, another few Royal Army units to go…

Alright, who'd just hit him?

Pummeling his way through a few more Papay baiters, the guard fetches up against the bar, discovers a miraculously unspilled flagon of ale, and is only mildly regretful as he brings the whole thing crashing down on the head of another brawler. Knocked sideways in near instant retaliation, the Gillikin trips over the barkeep making a bid for the exit through the anarchy fighting men thrive in…

…perhaps none more so than amiable Gulch, who's just turned a tripped up lunge over a barstool into a diving tackle that sends Jeb and the Othersider crashing over the far side of bar.

And damned if Ol' Gulchy doesn't end up on top.

"Yu dun talk 'bout princeshesh like deys my ex-gurlfrien'," the guard commander snarls at the lieutenant furiously between blows – doubtless it makes sense to someone, "hell, I woul'na even let yu-_hurk,_" the cop chokes as the two war buddies pinning the Gillikin switch targets and haul him roughly back over the bar…only to get blindsided Argus, as the massive Royal Guard hurls the nearest offending soldier aside like a professional munchkin tosser.

Officer Gulch eels out of the second soldier's grasp and resumes his dogged pursuit of Jeb almost before the first soldier hits the floor, leaving his subordinate with the vague suspicion that the Othersider might have a bit more staying power than they'd credited.

Turi and Argus find themselves fighting back to back as the bulk of the battle shifts their way. Under the sudden mass of new adversaries, the professional forgets himself a moment, a knife appearing in his hand almost as instantly as it disappears. Both soldiers and guards have the discipline to remember this is not a killing matter; flinging a chair to prevent lieutenant getting higher ground, the infuriated Othersider seems to have forgotten he is armed.

In a sudden contortion learned in war, Jeb manages throw the cop off of him, the guard commander vanishing beneath the brawling masses. Tossing aside their current combatants, Turi and Flynt surge forward to go looking for him…and with a roar the rest of the princesses' protection details join them.

Ducking and twisting around the writhing skirmishers, the Gillikin hits the floor a moment later as Ol' Gulchy re-emerges from the fray, shedding a table and half the Royal Army as he goes. Turi would like to think that the flying elbow had been meant for the man behind him, but he doubts at this point whether Gulch can distinguish much beyond Jeb and Not Jeb. Catching a glimpse of the Othersider locking onto his quarry once more, the few Gillikin wits not drowning in rage and alcohol have a notion that a wrathful Gulch might be a whole other kind of animal...

Turi didn't rightly know when the tin men showed up, he figured it was sometime between his ruminating whether they might have to stop Ol'Gulchy killing the Tin Man's son – nobody wanted to explain that one to Cain – and his hearing the Othersider patiently instruct, "Yu kno', yu migh' wanna shift yur grip a little, ya get more lev'rage…"

WHAM!

"…ther' yu go."

But as the guard had just fetched up against that spineless Longcoat of a sucker puncher, the Gillikin wasn't of a mind to take heed.

It took a fair while for the tin men to make their presence felt, and since they made the mistake of bringing Jeb in range of Gulch – who apologized politely to the tin men for the trouble before flooring the lieutenant with head butt that made a mountain man proud – it was still longer before they quelled the resultant fight…and the one that followed as they left the bar…as well as the one that got going in the alley…not to mention the one that broke out crossing the street…and the fight Jeb started on the way to the holding cells…and also-

WHAM!

_Ow._ He really wished Ol' Gulchy hadn't taught them that move.


	10. Line in the Sand

_Disclaimer: Many things do I not own: Tin Man, that line from Mystery Men I am trying to wear out, the little nods to Firefly, or that line from Jerry Maguire…_

_Author's Note: WARNING: this is probably not the kind of chapter you were expecting from this particular guard, but when it came down to it, this chapter couldn't be anyone's but his. Quality Control liked it enough that she was titling it before she'd even gave it a postable (original title just didn't work anymore, it happens). In time, nightdrive23, I am sure you will come to forgive me._

_PS If you are ever doing a group project and suddenly find yourself with a sudden, last minute anal need to get it absolutely completed the day before, LISTEN TO THE LITTLE VOICE. Because sometimes it turns out the project is due at 10am and not 5pm like you thought, and if you hadn't listened to the little gremlin in the back of your brain you never would have got the project printed in time. Thank you gremlin, are you finding that book QC sent us in the mail nummy? 'Cause you deserve it._

_PPS Again, Gulch apologizes to the ladies present…_

* * *

><p>...<p>

* * *

><p>Emerson Dawkins, mostly known as Dawkins, occasionally – and unbeknownst to himself – referred to as Doc, and called Emerson only by those who wished to suffer an immediate and painful death, absolutely loved his job. Time was when he'd sworn off anything having to do with things prefixed by the word Royal – Royal Palace, Royal Guard…Royal Army – but that had been over fifteen annuals ago, back when someone had been darkness bent on proving the Royal Army didn't have a sense of humour, before there'd been the resistance, before there'd been a <em>need<em> for a resistance. Certainly before the resistance army had morphed into the very thing his humourless ex-commander had insisted he'd never truly belong to. At which point it had been absolutely imperative for him to stick with it, if only to piss the old bastard off.

Of course, that'd been before they had loaned him out to the Royal Guard – and emerald skies, if there was anything better than making stuffed up straw heads spin in their graves it was watching the stubborn old Tin Man try to deal with the Otherside raised princess. Hadn't taken Dawkins but a moment to realize the guard was the place to be, especially if one could get onto one of the protection details – _not_ Princess DG's, so there'd still be something for him to do. It was one of the reasons he volunteered to stay on as one of Princess Azkadellia's guards.

It was not the only one.

And then there was Officer Gulch. Dawkins considered him to be a signing bonus, and ruby slippers dancing over a rainbow shrouded sunrise what a signing bonus. Man was a calamity finding, chaos causing, pratfalling gift from all the humour deities – the resistance fighter turned guard always maintained there must be several – made for the sole enjoyment of fellows like himself. The eldest princess might disagree with this assessment, but that only added to the fun that was the Othersider what put the Otherside in Otherside princess (which only made it that much funnier when the Tin Man got himself the wrong idea). Life couldn't be easy on a guy who considered Princess DG to be the most fathomable part of his day, but then, he had a few insights into her thinking that it would be polite of him to share – Cain himself would probably grateful for the odd heads up, if he could ever get over his apparent urge to shoot the cop that is. It would be a great disappointment for Dawkins, though, if he did – can't have the Crown Princess getting predictable alright, and certainly couldn't perforate the entertainment.

A lot of people wanted to perforate the entertainment these days. Jeb Cain may not be the Hero of the Eclipse his daddy was, but he'd led the final assault on the Sorceress' Tower and the resistance fighters turned royal soldiers weren't too keen on seeing him beat bloody by an Othersider that hadn't had nothing to do with anything. Three weeks ago Dawkins had only regretted not being at the bar because it had sounded like one hell of a fight, two weeks ago curiosity had killed the cat nine times over and still hadn't been satisfied (someday someone was going to have to explain the Otherside's obsession with cat metaphors), one week ago the reluctantly neutral party had just been getting damn frustrated with both sides because, witches, after being commandeered by a Tin Man, subjected to a headcase, beset by blustering nobles and attacked by enraged drunken princesses, what in the Realm could have put the ever friendly Ol' Gulchy in a fighting mood? Some information would be nice – five minutes ago, if only as a way to enliven a thoroughly boring discussion on the state of the Old Road, but now…

…now all he wanted to know was why he was being forced to draw his gun on…on…

_…a fire crackling in the woods, footsteps ghosting through the underbrush, imperceptible hand signals and deadly grins, an ambush turned in on itself…and hey, they didn't even burn dinner…_

_ "Only you would sew 'For a Good Time Lift the Flap' on his own tent."_

_ "Worked didn't it?"_

_ "Sure did, Tom says he'll be along in ten minutes."_

_ "…is Tom sure he wants to challenge me to a game of who can take this joke farthest?"_

Oh Deities…

_ …laughter beneath the trees, amusing ideas in the field, dangerous expeditions in the darkness, desperate struggles on the battlefield…_

_ "So who won?"_

_ "You kiddin'? Tom practically ran screaming in the other direction at the first sign of a grin."_

_ "What can I say, he had me at hello. Heartbroken I am, can't trust a man, gonna hafta content myself with the arms of women to comfort my wounded soul."_

_ "And _where_ do you think your hands are, funny man?"_

Oh witch's black heart…

_"This means nothing."_

_ "That so?"_

_ "I've got a betrothed."_

_ "I had wondered…"_

_ "Shut it, funny man, he's undercover, dallying with the Sorceress' whores, looking for information. We've got a deal, he can learn his secrets and I can take my comfort, as long as it means nothing."_

_ "So happy to be of service."_

_ "Don't even try it. You'd have to think twice if it meant something, why do you think I chose you?"_

_ "Best man parts in the camp?"_

_ "Funny, funny man. Prove it."_

Oh Great Gale, no…

_Brothers in arms, family in fury, war buddies, friends, comrades, angels of vengeance, demons of destruction, and a vow…_

…he knew them, he knew them all…

_…the vow not to stop fighting the Sorceress, not until their very last breath. A vow kept then…_

…and yet his hand does not hesitate in reaching for his gun, does not pause an instant in drawing it out…

_…a vow still kept…_

…because that ashen faced princess being pulled behind what cover Turi could make from the heavy wood table is not the Sorceress. Almost two annuals of watching her flee nightmares – ghosts behind her eyes and nothing is more haunted than a ghost – have taught him that. Not the Sorceress, and the vow was made to protect her victims…

Oh Deities…

His gun barks out its challenge and is answered in kind. Guns are still comparatively rare in the O.Z., most of those available having been issued to the Royal Guard and Army, for the safety of the Realm and the Royal Family.

How fucking ironic.

He's running on instinct now, annuals of trained reflexes kicking in from the moment the decision was made, he needs to think, needs to plan, the council meeting has descended into bloody chaos as the frenzied mob – _allies_ – crashes into the room, but his higher brain functions are a jumbled mess as a lifetime of loyalties scream and tear up his mind. It is enough that he is fighting at all. Ruvy falls…

…_and that's how many times I've saved your ass now Ruvy?..._

…one of Dawkins' bullets buried in his chest.

_Bang. Bang. Bang._

The Tin Man has his end of things well in hand, the youngest princess secured, the Southerner…

_"And here I'd thought I'd be stuck with a Winky, 'stead I get an oversized mutt. I think I'd prefer a Winky."_

_ "I was going to learn your name so as to be accurate with the headstone, but I think I can do alright on my own: Here lies a pompous ass…that didn't see the Longcoat tracker practically walking in his boot steps – would you like me to shoot him for you?"_

…cut down by Cain's protective fury.

Eldest princess stowed as safely as possible, the Gillikin rises in her defense, his bullets slamming into Sarai…

_…can't be a widow without a wedding…_

All of them, he knew all of them. Royal Army or Royal Guard, resistance fighter or innocent bystander, there wasn't a face he didn't know, couldn't name or put a story to. _Allies_, his past screamed, _enemies_, his present screamed back, the gun would not be silenced. How in the eternal darkness did they get this far?

And then he answered his own question.

Dawkins wasn't even conscious of making the decision, his arm jerking suddenly away from the next target, so that the bullet took the Northern Giant through the throat instead of…

…oh moonless nights…

Not Sarge. He couldn't shoot Sarge; there were too many annuals, too many debts unpaid. Dawkins c_ouldn't_…Cain, Turi, anyone shoot him but him. _Please_ don't make him…

…but the Tin Man had his own problems to worry about, and beside him the Gillikin's gun clicked empty – they'd been armed for guard duty, not a siege. Deities…

_…and I vow never to lay down arms, never to run, never to cease fighting the Sorceress' darkness so long as there is breath in my body, on the blood of the Realm I swear it…_

…and he forced his hand back to reacquire S-…the target – this was a princess of _light_ – and his gun clicked empty, too.

Cain bought them some time, like an angry guardian angel his revolver slammed its fire through the front ranks of attackers, buying the two guards just enough time to draw their blades – and then someone found an opening to put the Tin Man's invincibility to the test. Dawkins only got a brief glimpse of Cain faltering under the hail of bullets before he was buried in a tide of screaming bodies.

He lost contact with Turi almost immediately and the princess was…_allies, allies, not bloody allies!_ his mind howled as he threw Tom off him, stabbed that irritating Vinkan runner in the guts, and decapitated the only munchkin he'd ever known not to speak in rhymes on the backstroke. _No Sarge! You don't understand…get OFF me Tom!_ Oh forsaken realms, the princess, Sarge had the princess and Dawkins – twisting desperately around the blade opening a deep gash in his side – couldn't get there in time…Turi, Cain, anyone…the knife was raised and…

_Tap, tap, tap._

…and the angel of mercy answered with the only semi-automatic in the O.Z.

_Tap, tap, tap. _

Tom was snuffed out mid death stroke, even before Sarge had finished falling.

_Tap, tap, tap._

The Southern Guilder menacing the Gillikin was cut down a second later…

_Tap, tap, tap._

…and the city rat that had gotten too close to where the Tin Man was struggling to reload his revolver with one sound arm followed a moment after…

_Tap, tap, tap. Bang. Bang. Bang._

…and then Tin Man and angel cleared the view for the most beautiful sight Dawkins had ever seen in his life. It was salvation, it was life…

…it was a bit of an awkward thought that, he'd realize later, really would it have killed Ol' Gulchy to stop to put on some damn pants?

_Tap, click, snap. Tap, tap, tap._

…perhaps not, but it would certainly have killed the princess, and that, he remembered as the Othersider hauled Princess Azkadellia back under cover, was the material point here…

_Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap._

…and vengeful Deities, when did Officer Gulch learn to shoot like that? This wasn't the chaotically misplaced Othersider of the past months, this was…

_…beware the quiet ones, Dawkins, they won't tell you where the line is drawn in the sand, but they will sure as hell let you know when you've crossed it…_

…Should have followed your own advice there Sarge. Pained understanding crept in on the mind but more than a decade of soldiering rose up at last to his defence, burying the past, hiding the faces and leaving behind the simplified realm of aggressors and defenders. _A man tries to kill you, it's as much his responsibility as yours if you should happen to kill him right back. _The soldiers' realm of now, where there was only the job and Othersiders that ran naked into gunfights. Which was hilarious…also, fucking awesome.

Shoving off T-…the weight pinning him, the guard forced himself to his feet with a pained gasp, pressed a hand to his bleeding side and prepared to rejoin the battle…excepting there wasn't much of a battle to rejoin. Apparently, nude Othersider was the ultimate secret weapon in violent mob dispersal. And could someone please comment on that already? His tongue couldn't seem to loose itself from the knowledge still trying to leech through the cracks in his killer's pragmatism, and damn, he can't have been the only one to have noticed…

A shuddering, strangled laugh filled the falling silence. "'M-maybe you should put some shorts on or something, if you want to keep fighting evil today,'" the Crown Princess choked out from behind the Tin Man.

_That would do_, the guard thought as his commander realized his, er, lack of surroundings. Quiet man to court jester in the blink of an eye, Dawkins wasn't just holding onto his side to keep his guts in. Could Old Gulchy hurry up and get the princess out of here? It was getting hard to stand around like there's nothing much wrong with him, and as hilarious as Princess Azkadellia's quiet hysterics were, she was only a few grains of moritanium short of an overload. He was no Viewer but he was pretty sure he'd need their services…hmm, that probably wasn't supposed to be sticking out like that…now sounded about right…best poke that back in…oh good, he'd been wanting to retreat into the black oblivion for a while now…

Dawkins stared intently at his pocket watch, almost enjoying the effects poppy draughts had on him. Sure, it still felt like there was a Papay gnawing on his insides, but he couldn't seem to care. The pain seemed to be a distant thing, as if his mind and body had gotten oddly detached. _Hmm, we appear to have been partially eviscerated today. Oh? Isn't that interesting. Hurts like a bitch. That's nice._

Now if only the poppy draughts could detach him from knowledge like the fact that today he'd been partially eviscerated _by Tom_.

Across the infirmary two Viewers were working tirelessly to See Argus Flynt into his tomorrows. The off-duty guard had been returning with the remains of a kitchen raid when he'd found himself between an angry mob and the council room. He'd taken out three of them with a T-bone and fork before they'd put him down with a knife through the ribs. By the time Ol' Gulchy had streaked by, the professional had put a temporary plug in his sucking chest wound and was struggling to rejoin the battle. Tale was he'd been disappointed to find it over when he got there – they bred a special kind of nutter in the Crown Princess' protection detail.

_And Avry always had liked steak…_

_That_ wasn't helping; the guard forced his attention back to the steady ticking of the second hand. Not that it was terrible effective, it was just nothing else came to mind. He didn't need the Viewers' whimpers of pain every time they brushed against him to know he didn't want to get better acquainted the snarl of thoughts hovering about the edges of his awareness. When they first brought him in here hours ago, the Viewer that'd healed him had actually howled for grief. The Royal Guard had never been more overjoyed to see Cain and Princess DG being themselves, bloody empaths.

It was almost comforting to see the Tin Man acting his usual dangerous, determined, and justifiably paranoid self, even with three bullet holes in him. Made a man feel almost weak for being bedridden by a mere stab wound, but then, Dawkins didn't have a princess he was absolutely not trying to impress. Such as the princess who'd danced about Cain's protective wake, agitated and infuriated and desperate to get the Tin Man to bed, but not for her usual reasons. They provided such wonderful distracting entertainment, though somewhat painful for a man who wasn't supposed to be stressing his stomach muscles quite yet.

But then the eldest princess had shown up, new ghosts lurking in her eyes, and he couldn't escape anymore, because some conversations just had to be had.

The Royal Guard watched as the minute hand struck the quarter hour. He almost wished the commander hadn't succeeded in sending the entertainment to bed. It had been necessary – couldn't have the Tin Man storming about until he finally succumbed to something like a human weakness and collapsed – but Dawkins would have been grateful for the distraction of, oh, a dozen more palace sweeps. For Princess Azkadellia's visit, doubtless helpful in the long run, had let the day's ghosts in to crowd him.

"…_you going to finish that?"_

_ "Yes, and yours, too, if you keep asking."_

_ "Not if I stab you with, you won't."_

_ "Ooh scary…"_

…and apparently effective if you aimed for the jugular, which was still decidedly less disturbing than what Argus had done with his fork. Dammit.

"_…what would you have done if Tomyn hadn't lioned out?...That is the creepiest grin I have ever seen. Knock it off; I don't want to know anymore."_

Damn it.

_"…kid have you ever thought of wreaking a little of your havoc on the _other _side? Our side could use a break…"_

Damn. It.

He wondered, if they'd rotated the army through the guard, if it would have changed anything. No he didn't, the old resistance fighter knew damn well it wouldn't have. In the last couple annuals there'd been more than one supposed guard that had attempted to assassinate the eldest princess. They'd never see her for the Sorceress. It would have changed nothing, except maybe to get the princess killed sooner.

_Damn_ it.

_"…what are you when you're not being funny, funny man?"_

Dammit. Damn it. Damn. It. _Damn it._

"I knew I should've had Raw dope you."

Dawkins had a singularly painful start of surprise as the sudden voice on the other side of his skull wrenched him from his thoughts. The Othersider was standing beside his cot, swaying slightly on his feet, and looking down at his subordinate with concerned, if bloodshot, eyes.

"He tried," the former resistance fighter replied with a grunt, nodding at the ignored vial of poppy draughts by his bedside, "didn't want any."

"Ung," Officer Gulch grunted back as he collapsed in the nearby chair. "Nobody wants to sleep around here," he commented, his voice rasping a little as if he'd been using it all night, "Cain is already up and ready to terrorize the neighborhood, and I was due to go horizontal hours ago," Gulch added, watching as the faintest bit of light filtered through the window, heralding the rising of the first sun.

There was a pause while both men attempted to gather uncooperative thoughts. "The princess?" Dawkins asked at last.

"Enjoying a sleep over," the commander replied, rubbing his face wearily, "I got Ayan to cover Turi's shift, fortunately there isn't anything wrong with the Gillikin that a little rest won't cure. We'll just have to shuffle things a bit until you are back on your feet…" he trailed off, looking at the guard. "How are you…" the cop grimaced in derision at his own almost question. Silence fell as he glared at once more at the window. He looked…lost. "Damn it," Gulch growled suddenly, "on the Otherside we have protocols for this kind of thing, specialists you can talk to…"

The guard blinked in surprise. That was the closest he'd ever heard his commander come to swearing…and he wasn't looking just lost… "You haven't killed before have you?" the ex-resistance fighter demanded abruptly.

The sound the policeman made in response could have been a bitter laugh's older, uglier, angrier cousin. "I've hardly even had to draw my gun before, and even then mostly to scare off wildlife," Gulch stated bleakly, "Should've had dad take me hunting more often as a kid, but I never was terribly fond of venison and the rule of the house was if you won't eat it, don't kill it. Vermin excepted, of course."

Every moment of the attack had been seared into Dawkins' memory; he knew exactly how many people Officer Gulch had killed that night. He knew most of their names, all of their faces; he'd been a rebel soldier for over ten annuals, and he'd never met anyone whose kill sheet had gone from zero to double digits in under five minutes. And for someone like Gulch…

Someone was certainly enjoying their irony tonight. "Had a sergeant once," the resistance fighter found himself saying for the second time that night, "used to tell me that if a man tried to kill me it was as much his responsibility as mine if I should happen to kill him right back."

"They weren't trying to kill me," the Othersider drawled in reply, sounding as if he'd have found that to be a more forgivable offence.

It was possibly ironic – or not, Dawkins never was entirely sure of that definition – that he wished Sarge was here. The old bastard had been good at this sort of thing.

"What happened to your sergeant?" Gulch queried after a moment's abstracted thought.

Uncanny that both should ask him, he had answered her. "He went after Princess Azkadellia with a knife," he told her chief bodyguard.

And just like that, the quiet man was back in the guard commander's eyes, that burning look that morphed suddenly into horrified comprehension, the Othersider's mouth working soundlessly as if some part of him was trying to choke out an apology that never came. Then his expression smoothed into one that was nothing if not honest. "When I ran into the room," Officer Gulch said quietly, "a man had a knife to Azkadellia's throat, the only thing between DG and a bloodthirsty mob was a bullet-ridden Tin Man, and I'm pretty sure the rest of the royal family wasn't fairing too well either. I have no trouble mourning what I had to do but I am having a hell of time trying to regret it. I'm beginning to doubt I can."

_Unholy son of a witch_, Dawkins thought as Gulch looked him square in the eye. Beware the quiet ones indeed, but somehow the resistance fighter didn't think that line was drawn in something as pliable as sand. He wondered if the Othersider knew what that sentence said about his priorities. Another, lighter hearted part of his mind, the part that accepted that life generally went on regardless and one might as well enjoy it, wondered: if Cain and Gulch ever got in a fight, who would win? Just yesterday anyone would have doubled down on the Tin Man without question, but now…and how would one go about getting them to fight in the first place? Their known triggers were unfortunately self-exclusive…

"He would have thanked you for it," the guard uttered while that distant part of his mind puzzled away on cheerier matters.

"Eh?"

"Sarge, he would have thanked you for stopping him, had he been in his right mind, if he'd truly known what he was about to do. He had a daughter once…" Dawkins trailed off to be visited by older ghosts.

_…dancing, laughing, like emeralds in her father's eyes…until the village burned…_

Officer Gulch nodded with perfect, grim understanding, "I…can sympathize, but I can't condone, guess I'm a bit hypocritical there. Policemen aren't supposed to kill people but…" he fell silent, the quiet man in his eyes, burning, burning. But he'd do it again, never lightly, every death carried with him until the end of his days, but he'd do it again, if they crossed that line carved in moritanium…

_…ghosts in her eyes and nothing is more haunted than a ghost…_

And so, Dawkins realized with something akin to relief, would he. Because it had been the right thing to do. And they had known it once, the ghosts that crowded him now, before they'd forgotten where their vow had carved its line in the sand. So they could be quiet now…

"You're good at laying, you know that?" the ex-resistance fighter said conversationally, following up on that thought.

Old Gulchy choked in surprise, quiet man to court jester just like that. "I beg your pardon?" he demanded in baffled tones.

"You're good at laying ghosts to rest," the Royal Guard explained artlessly. He'd been doing that for the eldest princess for weeks now, come to think of it. Dawkins, meanwhile, tucked the previous phrase away for later study. From Gulch's reaction, his innocent phrase had not so innocent connotations on the Otherside. Might come in handy later when life did that getting on thing, it would be a shame not to enjoy it after all.

Great Gale did he love his job…


	11. Royal

_Disclaimer: If someone that actually owns Tin Man is reading this (ha! Like that's gonna happen) can we share?_

_Author's Note: Group. Narration. Never. Again. *Quality Control Cheers* This was unexpectedly painful to write. It's also one of those chapters that result from letting a story lie fallow too long – other people start thinking they ought to have their say…and I stupidly agreed. Like always, I did not plan this, it just happened._

* * *

><p>...<p>

* * *

><p>The Royal Guard had a long and proud history of bravery in service to the Crown…<p>

_Crash. Thud._

…a legacy carried by every guard, from the high profile protection details to the common palace guard…

Crash. Thud.

…It was a well-known fact that when darkness had fallen on the O.Z., the Guard had held their ground to the bitter end…

_CRASH. THUD._

…unlike certain traitorous Royal Army forces…

CRASH. THUD.

…which made the lapse in professional behaviour leading to the events of yesterday night just that much more embarrassing…

_**CRASH. THUD.**_

…though they would like to point out that that had been _their_ naked one man cavalry charge to the rescue…

**CRASH. THUD.**

…_Ow_. Though that apparently didn't prevent one from being dumped out of bed _not_ bright and yet still early in the morning. Especially since Commander I-Don't-Need-Clothes-For-A-Gunfight was doing the cot tipping. If that hadn't woken the bed's erstwhile occupant, the looming certainly would have done the trick. Did the Othersider have any idea how terrifying he could be when he got all quiet like that?

Groans could be heard throughout the guardhouse, either Ol' Gulchy was still channeling the Tin Man or they'd missed his more conventional wake-up call. It wasn't unlikely – almost half the guards in here had only got off duty a few hours ago…of course, according to Dawkins' Don't Piss Off The Quiet Man theory, that excuse would be about as effective as recent inter-forces communication. The guard currently under unnerving scrutiny decided it would be best at this juncture to appear alert and spritely, and hope to rainbows that the Menace would move on.

_**CRASH. THUD.**_

This…was not going to be a good day…

The Royal Army had a tradition of honour and discipline…

_Tack._

…a reputation for courage and acts of valour almost as old as the O.Z. itself…

_Tack._

…and while it may be true that certain units of the former Royal Army had disgraced its name with betrayal…

_Tack_.

…it was also true that none of those traitors to the Crown had been allowed to survive the war's end…

_Tack._

…Relatively few of the Loyalist Army may have survived the Sorceress' reign, but they had taken their oaths to the Crown very, very seriously…

_Tack._

…which only made their failure of the night before last just that more galling…

_Tack._

…The soldiers that made up the majority of the army may not have been brought up, as it were, to its traditions…

_Snap._

…but they had their own code of honour, pride, duty…

_SNICK._

…and the sound of the Tin Man's revolver being cocked memorized well enough they could recognize it even when sleeping the sleep of the about to be dead…

Every soldier in the barracks was up, dressed and assembled in the palace courtyard before the first sun had even thought of rising. They'd figure out later what in the witch's darkness was going on…

More than one of the Royal Guard had the odd, nebulous thought, as they stumbled their way out of the guardhouse in the policeman's wake, as to _why_ exactly they were doing this. The Guard, after all, was very structured. The bulk of it, of course, was made up of your common palace guard (common nothing, stouthearted fellows all of them), who were either assigned to a particular palace on a more or less permanent basis, or who made up a large component of the Royal Entourage (almost as good as being in a detail, really). Then there were the Royal Protection Details (who got private rooms, the bastards), the smaller, more temporary security teams for things like diplomatic embassies (okay, so that beat being a palace guard, at least for the slipper shod), and the more eclectic units, like the inter-force liaisons (mobats, were _they_ in trouble). There was even a Guardian of the Royal Chickens – a position invented for the sole purpose of a proper humiliating demotion for the really big screw ups – and for every detail of the guard there was a commander. Officer Gulch commanded exactly five of their brethren, over for the rest the Othersider had no authority…

…except that small detail of having gotten disconcertingly scary all of a sudden. And he was looking this way. The entire Guard had never been assigned to Royal Chicken duty before, but there _was_ a first time for everything….

The Royal Army, meanwhile, knew exactly why _they_ were there – the Othersider might find occasion to be scary, but Cain just was – they just didn't know _why_ they knew why they were there. Or why they found themselves meeting the Royal Guard in the palace courtyard in the early dawn light, with only two _very_ quietly pissed off lawmen between them…

The Royal Guard had, up until two days ago, envisioned themselves to be the heart of the Realm's defence. For the most part the various units got along cohesively (except if there was beer and a distinct lack of Royal Army), what differences they had being easily settled through, ah, _friendly_ debate (see beer, lack of Royal Army and comments regarding glorified babysitters, because the common folk did get jealous). Sure, the Royal Army was still necessary, but it had obviously fallen from its former glory, as was evidenced by Lieutenant Jeb Cain (don't ask why; trust me you are better off not knowing). Officer Gulch may be the best joke any of them had ever heard (and, yes, they would like to buy tickets to the next big event), but he was _their_ joke, dammit, and they'd stand by him. Solidarity, what made the sum so much more than the whole of its parts…

…and then they'd let their professional failure expose themselves and the Royal Family to danger and the true merit Officer Gulch (and where in the witch's spun darkness had _that_ come from?)…

The Royal Army, it had to be admitted (at least by its few survivors), was not the shining example of military discipline it had been before darkness fell on the Realm. The current army was a munchkin mix of old diehard soldiers, surviving resistance fighters, and far more than a few wet behind the ears recruits. Very few in the resistance had had military training before being blown into annuals of guerilla warfare, and the captured Crown Loyalists had come out of the moritanium mines feeling not so civilized as they went in. The result of this being chains of command that had been a bit…fluid. Since the end of the war the generals had been doing their best (under the direction of a certain Tin Man) to impose a coherent order on the ranks, an effort slightly hindered by the loss of a common goal. One thing they had agreed on, though, was that the Royal Guard was full of incompetent, lion-livered scarecrows, as exemplified by none other than Officer Gulch…

…which had made it particularly awkward when he'd turned out to be a one man (naked and thus more disconcertingly awesome) cavalry charge (the likes of which had impressed even Argus Flynt – woe be his loss to the dread Guard). It made a rather nasty hole in their theory.

"Morning ladies and gentlemen," the maybe not so inept unexpectedly intimidating man announced with an unsettling grin, "welcome to the first annual company retreat, complete with team building activities. Please assemble yourselves into your respective units in a quiet and orderly fashion so that my secretary can give you your group assignments."

And damned if he didn't look like he expected to be obeyed.

One perceptive soldier had an idea, as the two forces turned their bemused attention to the young man following in the guard commander's wake, that they were about to experience horrors the likes of which the O.Z. had never seen before. It certainly didn't help that the nerves to see the Othersider's secretary blissfully scribbling on the margins of the clipboard like that…

Ahamo's protection detail was assigned to the Classics. Classic what, they had no idea. Considering cleaning a perfectly tidy stable with toothbrushes and soapy water was the most relaxing part of their day, they didn't dare ask. Several of their members had been present at the assassination attempt, if Officer Gulch wanted to see his face reflected in the stall doors, they'd make it happen. And quietly thereafter vow to do anything loyally possible to avoid any and all trips to the Otherside. The Consort was often overheard muttering that cops were a dime a dozen there after all.

Lieutenant Cain's unit, meanwhile, merely found it to be adding cliff jump to Papay bite that after a day and a half of being tag-teamed by angry Cains, they had to be subjected to a berserk Othersider as well. The princesses' protections details, having spent the most time in the lawmen's vicinity, knew it probably wasn't a good thing that Ol' Gulchy was giving Cain ideas. Neither group liked the look of Gulch's Military Obstacle Course As Extrapolated From Movie Montages (And Lacking A Tower Of Victory We'll Just Use The Palace It's Tall Enough), hell, the sight of it made even the Gillikins wince, but it was probably better than the Tin Man's alternative. They didn't even want to know what that was.

The palace guards probably wouldn't have minded their assignment if they weren't very much aware that guard commander had a strong sense of fair play. It was all kinds of fun to enact the munchkin on the back of the beleaguered royal soldiers; it was less enjoyable to realize that once they'd finished their Lazy Man's Marathon it would be the Royal Army's turn…

The group of men allocated to Things My Mother Made Me Do When She Was Upset By My Behaviour merely expressed a wish never to meet Mrs. Gulch. Ever.

By their noon break the Royal Forces were united in the understanding that it was well for the Realm that the eldest princess hadn't discovered the sadistic policeman until after she was exorcised – the O.Z. would not have survived. Come midafternoon reprieve, they had cemented their definition of Otherside guard to mean Perfectly Friendly, Affable, And All Around Good Guy With Disturbing Yet Awesome Tendency Towards Violent Behaviour And Unnerving Consequences (and yes, they really would like to buy tickets to the next big event). In other words, he was brains in a scarecrow, courage in a lion, heart in a woodchopper, brick of the road, man of moritanium…

…by the evening First Aid lessons (because nine year old princesses knew better than to try and poked one's own guts back in and they should, too) they had it narrowed down to one simple phrase: Officer Gulch, a man who's damned determined to get the job done, with you or in spite of you.

So don't piss him off.


	12. Observer

_Disclaimer: Have yet to collar ownership of Tin Man, please don't impound me._

_Author's Note: So sometime after the original planning of this story but before, I think, the actual writing, it occurred to me that I was forgetting someone. I am apparently not the only one, as I got immense joy out of tormenting Bookworm Gal regarding the identity of this narrator, and even with hints she didn't get it. Honestly, it was the most fun I've gotten out of the bastard. He really doesn't do much – besides drive me insane. And having written and rewritten this stupid thing six or seven times, I am declaring myself free to forget him again. Perhaps permanently. Queen, mind giving me a hand with that?_

_Author's Note 2: I don't know if y'all have noticed, but the fanfic site has introduced a new Image Manager thingy so that you can put a pic or 'book cover' to your stories. Not being a stupendous illustrator at present, I was toying with the notion of maybe having a contest or something to create an image to represent the Gulchverse – maybe the crest for the House of Gulch or something like that. Just a thought. Anyone interested?_

* * *

><p>...<p>

* * *

><p>Tutor had come to enjoy these afternoon strolls of his; they hearkened back to days of yore and allowed him to see the various comings and goings of the palace. He felt, at times, more an observer than an active member in the lives of the Royal Family. Time was when he had been, if not the hub, at least near the center of the princesses' young lives. But that time existed now only on the far side of the rainbow, the life he had known altered irrevocably by annuals of separation and betrayal. The princesses had grown in his absence, found other teachers – for good or ill – and all that remained for him was to fill in the gaps in their education. Mourn the past though he may, the old Royal Tutor had come to accept a fate that was perhaps better than he deserved. Besides he never did know what these little rambles of his would turn up.<p>

Cocking his head to the right, he surveyed the sign proclaiming in Cain's broad hand: _The thought may count, but endangering the Crown Princess is endangering the Crown Princess_. Below it the princess in question had scrawled: _No good deed goes unpunished_. An Otherside maxim, no doubt, and oddly accurate at that. One generally did not find tin suits decorating the halls of the noble apartments, but none could fail to recognize the fell hand of the Tin Man at work – and know better than to interfere. With a last glance at the sheepishly smiling lordling within, Tutor deemed it best to move his preamble elsewhere.

He had always found a brisk walk good for clearing the mind, now he found meandering his way through the palace was even more beneficial for contemplating the course of his life. They didn't really need him, the Royal Family, his reappointment being one more of sentiment than need. The eldest princess now knew more about the flow of light than her old teacher could hope to learn, and the youngest princess was, in fact, better educated in some subjects than some of the O.Z.'s leading scientists (no one had bothered much with biology until the Sorceress had developed a pressing need to rip a man's brain out, and keep it alive in the process). Truth be told, DG could probably learn what she needed about the O.Z. through the use of the relevant texts and a measure of self-discipline…

…then again maybe he was necessary.

The behaviour of the Queen and Consort in the Royal Conservatory, described by their youngest daughter as 'a second honeymoon' and by the older lords as 'oh no, not that again', was enough to send Tutor scampering back out again in search of less…intruding local. Some people resented the annuals the darkness had eaten, others merely seemed determined to make up for lost time. No question where their Majesties stood on the matter.

Azkadellia meanwhile…no one could fault her for wishing to bury her past, but to do so was deny a full half of her existence. She had always been the best at teaching DG how to manipulate the currents of light in the past, now she was reluctant to glimpse the depths of her knowledge too closely for fear of what she might find. It was perhaps a small recompense on his behalf that he could spare her this, because to teach another was to lay your understanding bare for the world to see, an understanding perhaps forever tainted…

A young guard hopped past backward on one leg extolling the Otherside virtues of super-califragilistic-expialidocious while down the hall Lord Fastidium tracked his progress with a bemused fascination. He wasn't the only one.

It frightened Tutor sometimes to think that the Othersider had had a slipper in supplementing the Crown Princess' education.

Though he supposed it could be worse, he considered as he trotted hastily away from where Ambrose's attempt at inventing a new tracking device and Glitch's endeavour to re-invent some Otherside artifacts for the princess were having the alarming tendency to morph into the same unintentional project. Officer Gulch at least managed to minimize the damage to other people.

Which probably explained why Raw was currently staring at a room filled with medical supplies muttering, "Plenty for Guard…sufficient for Army…Gulch…not enough…"

Dodging hastily out of the way of a flurry of maids, the old teacher realized it might be best if he found a quiet corner in which to do his pondering for a bit. Between the Eclipse Celebration and the upcoming nuptials of the Crown Princess, the palace was a veritable munchkin welcoming party of activity. It was becoming increasingly difficult to stay out from underfoot. There were stewards swarming the wine cellars, lords and ladies flocking the chambers, the Royal Army seemed to be flooding the grounds, while the Royal Guard suddenly seemed to be haunting the service corridors…along with one princess.

Peering through the doorway to see what had caught their interest Tutor observed that Gulch had seen fit to commandeer the kitchen – an event of interest to anyone who'd had a taste of the guard commander's cooking. Unfortunately, he'd been interrupted by DG's current attempt on the Tin Man's virtue. The old tutor wanted to sigh as he watched the youngest princess corner Cain beside the far door – well corner may not be entirely accurate as her betrothed was obviously torn between obeying the restrictions of O.Z. social mores or yielding to the obvious lures of Otherside freedoms.

The Royal Educator wished for perhaps the billionth time that her childhood lessons on etiquette and propriety hadn't been completely erased from her mind, because it had been tantamount to impossible to impress their importance on the grown version of the youngest princess. And apparently the eldest princess was having some memory issues of her own, at least where common courtesy was involved. It was enough to make any teacher despair. Turning a beady-eyed stare on his charge and the gathering of guards, the old teacher reminded them it was rude to eavesdrop.

Behind him in the kitchen, the overlooked and fairly disgruntled Othersider cleared his throat pointedly. The effect, Tutor discovered with a glance back, had been immediate. Cain had clearly tried to put a proper distance between himself and the princess, only to be thwarted by her hold on his shirt. The Tin Man's face was a picture of virtuous outrage and conscientious mortification, probably an unhealthy combination for witnesses to the cause. Officer Gulch, Tutor reflected, scratching at a stubborn spot under his chin, was probably the only man in the O.Z. who would dare roll his eyes in face of the resulting glare, let alone snort. In fact, he respectfully did both.

Deciding that the Othersider had the situation in the kitchen well enough in hand, the old teacher returned his attention to dispersing the audience. He had absolutely no authority over the guards, and as the Royal Educator only the most nominally technical influence over the eldest princesses, but he had been instructing children since he'd been a very young man. He had that Look, that intangible something in his expression that, when he chose to use it, seemed to peer right into the eyes of one's inner child, beckoning them forth. Sheepishly, the guards and one dignified princess responded to the faint calls of habitual childhood obedience and dispersed.

Well, most of them did anyhow. There'd probably not been a teacher in his life that could get Dawkins to do anything he didn't want to, and the Gillikin educational methods being what they were, they likely didn't respond to any teacher that couldn't gut them with a blade of grass. Gulch, Tutor figured, could handle them.

Overhearing him offer the betrothed pair a picnic basket in exchange for a stay of execution, it occurred to the O.Z. native that Officer Gulch's upbringing might have left him blind to the exact delicacy of the situation. More particularly why they couldn't be wandering off alone…but then again, he reassured himself, it was just a picnic. Besides, Cain was likely more than enough of a self-chaperone to frustrate DG's cross cultural advances.

Poor girl.

He'd feel worse for her if she hadn't clued Gulch in to his dual nature; the cop had given the most wonderful belly rubs…though the expression on his face _had_ been priceless.

Giving himself a shake, Toto padded his way back down the corridor. He did like his walks, he never knew what he was going to find.


	13. Courage

_Disclaimer: animegus farmus not See ownership of Tin Man or Willow._

_Author's Note: Finally, FINALLY, a chapter that is postable on the first try, haven't had that since I started writing this bloody story. 'Course if I hadn't I'd have offed the narrator, he's only been musing the darn thing every other week since I started writing Tic Tok. Narrator who speaks in third person slightly troublesome, but overall okay. Oh, and I forgot to mention last AN – and thought I should since enough people were concerned – no Arguses were killed in the writing of this story. At least not yet. ;p_

* * *

><p>...<p>

* * *

><p>Raw not a guard. Raw have courage, could fight when had to, be heroic maybe, but Raw not a guard. DG call Raw a guardian of the heart, says Raw sees, Raw heals. And Raw can See as Viewers See, so can Raw heal, but DG wrong, Raw not a guardian of the heart. Raw can See Azkadellia's heart, can feel her pain, know her darkness shadowed Light, but Raw cannot Heal it. The eldest princess hears Raw, but she does not believe - cannot - for Raw not a guardian of the heart.<p>

DG and Gulch are.

Raw knows such guardians, knows their warmth, their fire. DG is like sun, bringing Light, banishing darkness; Gulch is like blaze in the hearth, a shield from the cold, a steady glow to light the way home…and a fiery reminder to any who would cross carelessly within his bounds. The kind of fire that could teach a sun to shine.

Gulch not realize Raw hovers for reasons other than probability of injury, not know that Raw love to bask in the effect of his presence, of DG's presence. Viewers cannot help but be susceptible to the emotions of a room, cannot but live in the feelings of others. Cain alone is a terrifying snarl of rage and fear, thwarted madness and desperate need. Azkadellia is a bundle of nerves, scraped raw, exposed and bleeding. Both too brave to let it show, but Raw knows, _feels_…and yet, add sun, add flame, then they are like moons, reflecting calm, peace, serenity. Add sun and flame together…

Consort not know how lucky O.Z. got.

Guardians of the heart need not Sight or Touch, can make do with snow and fire and…hot cocoa. And stories. It was the stories that drew them, held them close. The eldest princess radiated nothing but utter, dreaming content; the Tin Man glowing in quiet happiness; the audience caught up in DG's spirit. Stories explain much.

Explain why Gulch is wound on scar on bruise.

Gulch not like it when Viewers Listen, Hear his mind, his emotions, his heart. Othersiders are private, don't like to be Seen. But Raw cannot help but hear emotions when Gulch is screaming them across the room.

DG not know, Gulch not want DG to know. Imp tells of Menace born, not knowing the story strikes too close, starting the cascade of memories, revealing the wound, jagged edged, healed in haste, buried deep, not forgotten. Gulch love DG, like sun, like moon, like starlit sky. She went away, and he dwelled in darkness without her.

DG sees hearts, sees good in people, but sees Gulch at times with child's eyes. Remembers the hero, the problem solver, the guide, the friendly voice, the loyal protector, the man that is not invincible but seemingly indestructible because Gulch _bounces_. DG forgets that in order to bounce one must first absorb the impact.

Doesn't know that for a long time Gulch didn't bounce very well at all.

Raw Sees what Gulch would hide, sees whitened knuckles, knows his eyes search fields beyond the rainbow, never to find what they sought until long after despair and loss had taken their toll. DG is distracted by a suddenly irate Tin Man, the guards busy taking bets on the longevity of the unknown Gibbons' existence. Jeb figures DG maybe shouldn't have told that particular story; Gulch terminates discussion with a firm interdiction against damage to his Reclamation Project. Gulch would save everybody if someone held him together long enough, but Raw not a guardian of the heart, can only heal bodies. Memories leave enough Menace in his voice that DG begins to suspect…

…and then all wiped away in a wave of bemusement, old wound buried in confusion at finding there's a princess sleeping on him. Gulch wants to know when that happened. The room dissolves into uproarious laughter, masking the gentler, unknowing smile as Gulch sets to getting the sleeping Azkadellia safely back to her chambers. Well almost sleeping, but Raw not telling.

DG dances after them, has new Otherside traditions to inflict on the O.Z…or Gulch. Gulch thinks so, since now he'll not be getting any sleep. Othersider grouches and complains, balks and grumbles, but all know he'll play the guard, even without Cain's request. Raw knows that within, Gulch is laughing.

Flame and sun together is the oddest sort of calm beneath the chaos.

Gulch not Cain, not want be Cain, but in his heart a little girl runs laughing. She was center of his universe once, all he had. Far as Gulch knows, ever oblivious to the new axis upon which his world spins, all he has. The only link to his past, to what was home, and tomorrow he will watch her be given away with a smile and no thought beyond the best of wishes for her happiness.

Raw wishes Raw could have courage like that.


	14. Momentous

_Disclaimer: I would like to spend a moment in silence to lament my lack of Tin Man ownership._

_Author's Note: …moment over. Alrighty then, first I want to complain about my narrator who, like all my narrators this story (except Raw), was extremely uncooperative. Except even more so. Not only did he take an extremely long time to let me know what he looked like (or rather, let another OC who isn't even born yet tell me), but then he changed the tone of the chapter so that I couldn't put the description in. Or a fair few jokes. The bastard. Not to mention how, once he decided to open up about himself, he decided to really go to town about info dumping his whole family. Apparently muse is tired of creating characters…now she wants to create new whole cultures. WAAAAAAAAAAIILLLLL._

_PS The fanfic site, in its infinite wisdom and current updating, seems to have turned my anonymous reviews back on, with the new perk of being able to veto a review if I don't like it. I have decided after some consideration, to leave that be for the time being. So if anyone not registered with the site has had a burning desire to leave a comment, they can now feel free to do so. I won't be able to reply directly (which is a sadness), but I suppose I could address any pertinent questions one might have in my AN. I don't think they're long enough. ;P_

* * *

><p>...<p>

* * *

><p>Mishaal Ottokar understood moments. A man could not have fifty-three sisters, all but eight of them prostitutes or former prostitutes, and not realize that life was made up of moments, great and small. For he watched them live their lives in moments, in the space between customers, when they shined and sparkled as themselves and not what a bar of platinum said they should be. When it was 'just us girls and Mishee', when he was not their guard but their olderyounger/same aged little big brother and they were all one big family under the roof of Mother.

Mother herself was a beautiful mosaic of moments: the moment she first stepped from her life in the Shifting Sands into the arms of a loving husband; that instant an enemy's blade had left her a widow with four young daughters to feed; the infinite second in which she made the decision to fall. The moment in which Aylshia of the Shifting Sands set aside her life as Ottokar, as she had once relinquished glyn Da, and became Aylshia of the Night. And from that first joining of Night had come Mishaal.

The fatherless son grew up in the indifferent playground of Sin Square, a brothel for a home and its ladies his family. Of those fifty-three sisters, four were the daughters of Ottokar, four were as fatherless as he, and the rest told him stories of moments, moments filled with bad choices, poor circumstances, and at times the kind horrors that made a gutter born waif thankful for his lot in life. The moments of their fall. It had taken him a long time to understand.

His mother's people believed that life's journey was about interconnecting these moments, and that those with farseeing eyes could see where it was leading, like the path of a caravan. Of course, it was easier to look back at the route already taken than divine the path ahead. His path to now began the first time he stepped between a violent customer and one of his sisters, followed as it was in rapid succession by his first beating and the entire brothel's extreme displeasure (someday the tin men might find the body, but he doubted it). He had been nine at the time. By the time he was eleven he'd learned to read people well enough to head them off without physical confrontation, and by fourteen he'd gained enough skill if not size to hold his own in a fight if he had to. At sixteen he'd made it clear that any harm to any girl was utterly unacceptable, and there would be consequences. Even for Longcoats if he could manage it.

Mishaal respected the fallen woman. Because he never forgot that every single person who set foot on a path, any path, was but a moment from falling…or from picking themselves right back up.

Princess Azkadellia hadn't fallen so much as had been hurled off a precipice into a deep abyss. The way back up was lined with jagged edges and crumbling footsteps, but at least it came with a guide. A blind, deaf and occasionally drunkenly stumbling guide who was nevertheless strangely effective.

Officer Gulch travelled by the path of a whole different caravan, what could anybody say?

Except that he was an excellent provider of moments. Mishaal had been trained from a young age to gather the moments that happened around him. Knowledge, as Mother would say, was life in a desert. Though today was less about knowledge and more about details – when a man had fifty-three sisters waiting to hear about a wedding, he damn well made sure he had details to give them. Well, make that fifty-two sisters – Circe was around here somewhere, but being the evil blood relative that she was, she'd pointed out that as an on-duty Royal Guard of no less than the eldest princess' protection detail, Mishaal would have a better view.

Sisters: couldn't live with them, couldn't feed them to the Papay. It would upset Mother.

The moment his commander had walked into the Bridal Tent to find the guard's fingers entwined in the Crown Princess' hair, his mouth far too occupied for explanation, would amuse, though not surprise, most of them. That Old Gulchy had made a brick line for her bed while his subordinate was spitting out munchinpins, however, would interest them greatly. When a man had fifty-three sisters, if they wanted him to learn how to make hair pretty, he did; as ladies of the night, when a man headed for their bed, they didn't expect him to sleep. Dawkins would be disappointed: his latest ambition in life was to see the Tin Man and the Othersider fight, and there went an emerald opportunity, right over the rainbow.

Mishaal figured the window of opportunity had passed before the mischief maker had even been aware there was any doubt as to the outcome. Way he saw it, there was really only one thing that could provoke the two of them into battle, their goals were too similar, and since neither of them was going to attack a princess…

…well, anyone who'd seen the moment between them, when the bride had tucked her hand under the cop's arm, would realize that Gulch had never been a threat to Cain. His sisters would never hear of the surprised look on Officer Gulch's face, nor of their shared half grins of understanding as the guard commander escorted the Crown Princess to where her fathers were waiting. That moment was theirs.

But that was just one moment in the thousands he'd gathered from his place in the shadows.

All around the guard people were following the path their moments were taking them. Alone on the dance field, the Crown Princess turned slowly with her Tin Man, one last dance before they disappeared into the night. The Queen and Consort watched them with matching wistful expressions. Over by the banquet tables That Winky gingerly rubbed her feet while the eldest princess' clod-footed toe assassin kept as far from his victims – present or future, because darkness knew Princess Azkadellia was relentless in guarding what was hers – as politely possible. Ayan was still holding fort in the impromptu 'VIP' section, keeping guard over the Royal Shoes (as a man with fifty-three sisters, Mishaal had warned him that you do NOT mess with the shoes). Moving through the trees after a suddenly fast moving princess, the guard discovered that Dawkins had, for some reason, treed a drunken lord…

…a curiosity Mishaal really wished he hadn't taken a moment to explore, because the eldest princess had apparently used that time to have a moment of her own.

Used it to have an Officer Gulch kissing moment in point of fact.

Mishaal Ottokar was a man with fifty-three sisters; he couldn't help but know the significance of moments…

"We," announced the princess as she pulled back, "are getting married."

…and this moment was labelled…

"Um…Okay?"

…Aw, _shit_.


	15. Awkward Ever After

_Disclaimer: Sudden changes in ownership can be dashed awkward, so I'll just borrow instead…all the characters from Tin Man and one little line from The Mask of Zorro._

_Author's Note: I hereby dedicate this chapter to my dearly departed spatula, which suffered a fatal snapping in half (at the actual spatula and not the handle, which is so weird) whilst I was attempting apple cinnamon scones. Alas poor spatula, it was my favourite one, too. 'Twas flexible and good at getting into corners. Sigh. On another note: songs reinterpreted through the use of violins equals epic. Darn I wish I knew how to play the violin._

_PS Bet you weren't expecting this narrator. Meh, he's growing on me. Plus: love to torture._

* * *

><p>...<p>

* * *

><p>Jeb Cain was absolutely <em>not<em> a member of Princess Azkadellia's guard. Not so many months ago the former resistance fighter would have beaten a man senseless for even suggesting any such thing. Or at least tried to do so - sometimes certain Othersiders had other ideas. But that had been before he'd learned better, back in the days when the eldest princess' name had been a curse on his lips, back when he'd still blamed her for the destruction of his family. For giving Zero the power to destroy his family. Evil like that you don't forget…or forgive.

At least not without someone coming along and cracking your skull open to allow the absorption of new ideas.

Which is to say, Princess Azkadellia didn't need him for her Guard: it was plenty well stocked with ravenous Papay waiting for someone to say the word 'drought'. Though he supposed that as a member of the Royal Army one could say, at a stretch, that he was everyone's guard. As the army guarded over the O.Z. he became, as it were, a Guardian of the Realm. He…could live with that.

It was what he used to call his father. Before the darkness fell, when young Jeb had wanted nothing more than to be a tin man, just like his father. Before his father had died – or so they had thought – leaving a very young Jeb to wonder how he'd ever fill those slippers his old man had left behind.

He'd spent annuals trying, only to find out one day that they'd gotten _bigger_.

Because after nearly a _decade_ locked in a tin suit, the Tin Man had emerged not only sane, but so thoroughly ticked off. And he'd done more to bring down the Sorceress in a week than the entire Resistance Army had throughout the whole course of the war. And he'd stolen Princess DG's heart while he was at it, setting up the groundwork for him becoming the next Consort without even really meaning to.

Which just made his grown son feel inadequate on so many levels. Not to mention awkward.

What was one supposed to do when the Crown Princess was now your stepmother? Especially when that particular little house drop was comparatively easy to absorb when one considered the fact that his erstwhile sworn enemy was now, technically, his aunt. Not exactly an outcome he'd anticipated while sitting around the campfire to plan the raid on the Sorceress' Tower. And what, pray tell, did that make Jeb? He didn't _think_ it made him a member of the Royal Family, not really. His parents were commoners after all, which left him at a complete loss as to how to address Royalty that was suddenly insisting on a first name basis. They'd even invited him to dinner a few times – and let it be known: abruptly realizing over a tureen of gravy that the Queen of the O.Z. is now, sort of, your grandmother does horrible things to your appetite.

And he'd thought that guard Ottokar's family was complicated…

Welcome to post Eclipse O.Z., where every day was a freaking munchkin parade, you never knew what insanity would come next.

But if there was one thing he was sure of it was that he was not Princess Azkadellia's guard – he was too busy playing guard to her guard. Well sort of. If one counted being Officer Gulch's impromptu drinking buddy and fencing master as such. Jeb did – anyone off to see the wizard enough to come to _him_ for lessons was beyond desperate. The former resistance fighter's own instructions in the art of swordplay had consisted of being handed a sword and told 'the pointy end goes in the other man.'

Then again, beyond desperate was a pretty accurate description of the Othersider of late.

There'd been precisely two things on Officer Gulch's mind that night at the bar: that proposal wielding women were the scariest threat known to man, and that someday soon someone was going harvest his prairie oysters. It seemed to be a lifelong fear of the guard commander's, actually, one that, having heard the three most common methods of, er, oyster extraction, the army lieutenant now found he shared in full. The eldest princess' guard had had more than enough reason in the past to be upset with the soldier, after all, and they all knew what he was like when he was angry…

Of course, the Othersider would need to have survived this morning's duel first. Which, in all likelihood, depended entirely on his opponent. Lord Fastidium, as a noble, would have been trained in the use of a sword from a young age; Gulch had met a real blade for the first time three days ago. Common sense dictated that the aristocrat should win handily…except, as Jeb had discovered for himself, that Officer Gulch didn't really bother much with common sense, so why should his fights?

The army lieutenant wished he hadn't been on duty this sunrise – Dawkins was currently selling tickets to a Viewer screening this evening, but that just wasn't the same as seeing it live. At least, he figured as he turned the corner towards the stairs, he could find out-

Oh.

Well, he'd survived at least. Blinking at the sight before him, Jeb wondered why it was never he that got the girl. Then again, it looked kind of painful.

"Would you like me to fetch Raw?" Lieutenant Cain queried awkwardly, causing Princess Azkadellia to jump in surprise. He'd have to apologize to Gulch for that later.

Wincing, the guard commander commented, "That would be nice."

Stepping gingerly around where the Othersider lay at the bottom of the stairs, the lieutenant assured him, "Be right back."

"Take your time," Officer Gulch murmured serenely, obviously preoccupied with other, er, matters (which Jeb had to admit looked exceedingly distracting), "bleeding's mostly stopped anyhow, direct pressure and all that."

Fleeing up the stairs, the Royal Army Lieutenant wondered when exactly it had been mentioned in that First Aid class that having a princess lie on top of you was considered a valid tech…nique…you know, he wasn't following that yellow brick road of thought anywhere. He knew better now. Especially considering who was apparently looking to become his new uncle.

Greaaaaaat.


	16. Damn Cop

_Disclaimer: Ownership was banished for some stupid reason I can't recall._

_Author's Note: LAST CHAPTER WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! Ahem. Alrighty then, as requested the dwarves role call for those who were unsure: Sneezy = Ayan Toksmith, Bashful = Tam Merling, Grumpy = Turi Phelan, Doc = Dawkins (okay, did any of you not know that?), and Happy = Mishaal Ottokar. Got that? Good. Now keep them straight because I will feel free to use names and nicknames interchangeably from here on out (and by that I mean future stories). Sleepy and Dopey, since some of you asked/commented are not designated at this point in the timeline, but you will meet them eventually…three or four-ish Gulchverse stories from now. I've got some world building to do in the meantime. As for Argus Flynt, he is one of DG's guards – and has very brief mention in 'Otherside Encounter' chapter 'Apology's Hard'. Next Gulchverse story may take a while – aforementioned world building and plotting to be done – but there should be some Game Night Series and most likely Random Idea Generator aka Muse to keep one entertained it the meantime. All that out of the way: I would like to dedicate this chapter to KLCtheBookWorm, who has often expressed concern/frustration over this narrator's actions. Perhaps this might make things clearer…_

* * *

><p>...<p>

* * *

><p>Ahamo had only ever wanted two things in this world: to be a loving husband and a good father. And he liked to think that for the first fifteen years or so, he'd managed to be exactly that. For fifteen years, the perfect life: a beautiful wife, two precious daughters, the power to annoy nobles at his leisure (and that had been his day job), and the freedom to just <em>be<em>. Fifteen glorious years…

_"What I've always wondered is who lets young children play in a bear infested forest containing prisons for deranged wicked witches."_

And then the O.Z. had shown him that with every dream, there came a nightmare.

Damn cop.

It had been his idea. _His_, Ahamo the Otherside Consort, who had only wanted his little girls to have a 'normal' childhood, to have a chance at that carefree, happy existence. Othersider he may be, but he knew well enough that to be raised in a palace was no fairy tale. He knew that someday life would place the weight of the realm on their shoulders; he just wanted to give them a chance to just…_be_ first. Allow them the time to learn who they were, without always worrying about who they should be. So he'd ordered the guards to let them be kids, to let them run free…

Damn cop.

Ahamo had always promised himself he wouldn't be one of those men who ran out on their families. He'd sworn to stick it out through thick or thin, he'd even put up with Ambrose and the idiot genius brigade, not to mention every fool with a title thinking they could advise on his life. Much as it would astonish his former acquaintances on the Otherside, the carnie had always meant to do right in this world.

He'd just never imagined that to protect his family he would one day be forced to abandon them. Must do what he'd sworn not to. He hadn't thought it could hurt any worse…

Damn cop.

It was hard, sometimes, to look at his daughters without shame. The fate they'd left Azkadellia to, what they'd done to DG…they hadn't just gambled their lives, they'd gambled their _souls_.

They'd ripped DG's mind from her, tied up her memories and Light into a snarl designed to nag at her consciousness. Set her loose in a world that was not her home, with two non-integrated tic toks and a big gaping hole in her family unit where her sister used to be. On purpose, because they needed what she lost to constantly lurk at the edges of her conscience, so that when the day came, she would _remember_.

The Mystic Man had warned them of the potential consequences to the youngest princess. Sent forth with her formative years stolen from her, cared for by two beings that would be incapable of feeling true emotion until years after she'd really need it, he'd warned that she might grow up emotionally detached, unable to express her feelings, unable to _connect_. It had broken her father's heart to leave her to that fate, but he'd had no choice, it was the only chance she – they – had.

So he'd let her go with a hope and a prayer, knowing full well it couldn't be answered…

…except that it was. Because along came some damn cop to save the day, fill in the holes, and give DG that happy childhood Ahamo had always wanted her to have.

The Consort occasionally tried not to hate him for it.

It did not bother Ahamo to hear how Hank had taught her to ride a bike, to drive a tractor, or that the tic tok had a local farmer teach her how to ride a horse; it infuriated him to learn that that damn cop had taught her to fix cars, took her fishing, and all but forced her into swimming lessons. Nearly all of Hank's Otherside programming had been designed by Ahamo, the tic toks a father's gift to the child he had to leave behind. They had been an extension of himself, to care for her in his place. The cop was a thief, waltzing…make that two-stepping…in to steal the childhood moments that should have been her father's.

Because Ahamo knew the cop is the reason DG turned out to be everything he'd hoped she'd be, yet had feared she could not. The spell on her memories had been meant to act like a constant itch, keeping memories that time would've erased close to the surface yet just out of reach, so that they would be there when she – they – needed them. It could have driven her insane…but for the cop. Who stepped into the place Azkadellia once held, who guarded her steps, joined her on her adventures and acted as a guiding hand when she needed it most. Who helped her lay those memories to rest, entirely unknowing, almost bolloxing up the works in the process.

Those memories had been vital to their plans, for as much as their gamble contained a plan. She hardly remembered her mother, had only scattered, fragmented recollections of her sister…and she didn't know her father at all. That damned cop had almost doomed the O.Z. with his meddling…

…or he'd saved it entirely. Because the DG he'd sent back to them, the one with just enough memory of the past to get the job done, the one with the heart of gold, the one that they'd both hoped and despaired to have, that was the DG that could save a realm. The caring girl, who was willing to accept her presence in a strange land, that could trust in the goodness in people, that had been taught that if you break it, you darn well find a way to fix it. The one who could reach out a hand that people couldn't help but want to take.

And if she was still recklessly careless and dangerously prone to adventure, well, that was the fault of those that had stolen that vital lesson from her. There was only so much that even damned cops could do. And if he'd only stayed on the Otherside, Ahamo might have been able to be quite grudgingly appropriately grateful.

But he hadn't stayed on the Otherside.

Ahamo hadn't really meant to object when Cain had come to ask for DG's hand. Hell, the Tin Man was any father's dream, but the Consort had been dying to do some fathering around here and no one was letting him do it. Because he knew damn well that the blessing that _really_ mattered to his youngest daughter had long since been given.

They say a woman looks for her father in a potential husband. Ahamo doesn't see much of himself in the Tin Man, but he knows who he _does_ see – and it sure the hell ain't Hank.

Damn cop.

Ahamo might be able to forgive him if it weren't for Azkadellia. For where DG had always been her mother's angel, Azkadee had always been daddy's little girl. And witches be damned, nothing had terrified his paternal self more than watching his little girl trying to attach herself to that oblivious idiot.

Azkadellia had come out of those years of darkness broken and fragile, almost too petrified by life itself to even move. She feared the realm, she feared for the realm – what she might do _to_ the realm. Possessed, her mind had been twisted and manipulated until, without the Sorceress' firmness of purpose, she almost didn't know herself. She ghosted through her days, shunned, reviled, with so few people to whom she could turn. Knowing full well there were times when even dearest daddy couldn't help but flinch at the sight of her.

There was no loathing in his soul deeper than that which he held for himself. And not a damned thing he could do about…

…then along came that _blasted_ cop.

And just like Sleeping Beauty, Azkadellia woke up, came alive, stepped out into the world and braved its perils for a man that could destroy her with a careless word. And all he had were careless words, because if that damned cop could see anything more subtle than a hippo pole-dancing in a wedding dress then Ahamo was a law-abiding citizen.

Yet they forbid him from doing anything about the man.

So Ahamo had been forced to watch, powerless yet again to do anything for his daughter, knowing all the while that the day was coming when that blithering, oblivious, well intentioned fool would do what he did best: stick his foot in his mouth and crush Azkadellia in the process. And with so little hope in this world, how could daddy's little girl survive that?

Except that she did. Instead of shattering she'd risen up in that flame of fury hell hath none like. And hoo boy did she let him have it, like the any self-respecting woman would when they discovered their love interest was a nincompoop. Devastation the Consort had been expecting, a return of the ghostly wreak left behind by Sorceress' reign he'd feared, the pride of a brokenhearted and furious woman he'd never dreamed to hope for.

Daddy's little girl had learned how to walk again without him even noticing.

Because apparently selective blindness was a trait Othersiders had in common. Well at least one of them could figure out how to take the blinders off when that elephant following him from room to room clonked him over the head often enough.

Which is how Ahamo finds himself here, escorting his eldest daughter down the aisle towards her future happiness. His daughter who is brave beyond measure, whose fragile seeming exterior hides a soul of forged steel, whose loving heart makes her so terrifying in her own right when enraged. Azkadellia, who was more than ready to dictate the course of her own life, allowing him to do one last thing as the good father he always wanted to be: take her hand and place it into another's keeping.

Because after almost eighteen years, Ahamo can finally say once more that he is a good father – all thanks to Officer Gulch.

Damn cop.


End file.
